


You Are Safe Here

by headofporridge



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: I have no idea what I'm doing, I think they're gonna fuck eventually but honestly idk???, M/M, also what the hell is pacing I don't even know, and when I say slow I'm not kidding, brace yourself for a lot of pretentious introspection and shit, slow-burn, spoilers for The Winter Soldier, this is the most self-indulgent thing i've ever written
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-19
Updated: 2015-06-15
Packaged: 2018-01-20 00:46:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 23,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1490500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/headofporridge/pseuds/headofporridge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Who is the Winter Soldier?  Who the hell is Bucky?  And who comes next?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I have to go now

**Author's Note:**

> Karaii is a good friend who makes me write things <3
> 
> Title taken from Amanda Helm's poem "You Are Safe Here"
> 
> Trying to update MWF

_“Don’t pull on that thread,”_ Natasha had said, and it had been easy for Steve to disagree with her in the heat of the moment. But now that she’d gone off to wherever she’d gone, he found himself having no idea where to start: if Bucky was free from Hydra now, where would he go? They had no means to track him, and his track record made it clear that he was more than capable of flying under the radar.

 That dusty old file Natasha had given him wasn’t much help either; he’d picked up a few odd Russian words from her but not nearly enough to peruse a file on the Winter Soldier. And who did he know that he trusted to read this file and was also able to understand it? Only Natasha, who’d stopped replying to his texts and was probably reinventing herself in Hungary or something. He told himself that he was just biding his time until his body healed, since even with his extended hospital stay and enhanced healing he didn’t feel shiny, but he wasn’t fooling Sam even a little bit.

 He needn’t have bothered, as it turned out.

 In the aftermath of everything, his pre-dawn runs were the only productive thing he felt like he was doing, rebuilding his body’s strength while avoiding the eyes of the curious public. Mostly though it was just nice to be alone.

 He’d stopped in the middle of a park one morning to retie one of his shoes when he became aware of a pair of eyes on him. “Why do I know you?” he heard Bucky’s voice asking behind him.

 “Bucky!?” Steve shouted, whirling around and scanning the area for his friend. But the park was deserted.

 Sam thought that Steve had just imagined it, but Steve wasn’t so sure. The next morning, he took great care to pause in about the same place and kneeled down as if to tie his shoe, ears straining for any sound at all. He didn’t have to wait long before he heard a soft patter of feet behind him, and a voice asking, “Why do you think I won’t hurt you?”

 Steve hardly dared to breathe. “Because you’re Bucky,” he answered.

 “I am not.”

 “You pulled me out of the river.”

 “Why did I do that?”

 Steve smiled. “You tell me.”

 Another few steps closer. “Would Bucky have pulled you out of the river?”

 “You’ve done more for me before.”

 “I’m not him.”

 Unable to help himself, Steve turned around. “But Buck—” he began to say, but he cut off when he saw that Bucky had disappeared again.

 The next day, he fully sat down on the ground, hoping that would help keep him still. “They’re looking for me,” Bucky said softly.

 “Who?”

 “My owners.”

 That gave Steve pause. “But we got them all this time,” he said, “their helicarriers are grounded now, they failed.”

 It took Steve a moment to realize that the hoarse barking noise he was hearing was a laugh, rough from lack of use. “Perhaps you’ve cut off another head,” Bucky said, “but they’re still looking for me.”

 “Come with me then.”

 “Maybe I’ll kill you.”

 “If you wanted to you would have already.”

 Steve suddenly felt a weight on his back, and heard Bucky let out a deep sigh as he leaned against him. “You say that so easily,” Bucky said, “As if what I want is obvious.”

 “I think you know what you want, Bucky.”

 “Stop calling me that. Maybe that’s who I was once, but that’s not who I am now.”

 “Then what should I call you?”

 Bucky shifted. “I guess it doesn’t matter, since I’m leaving. It’s a shame, I didn’t really want to hide from you, but to hide from the others I have to hide from you too.”

 “No you don’t, you can come with me instead!”

 “But I _know_ you.”

 Steve gritted his teeth. “I’m not really seeing the problem here.”

 “I know you, but I don’t know myself. And if I go with you, you might find me before I do. That’s the problem.”

 “But Bucky, _I_ know you.”

 “I’m not Bucky! I’m someone else now! You don’t get to decide who I am.”

 Bucky got up and started to walk away, and Steve began to panic. “Wait!” he said, relaxing when he heard the footsteps stop, “Okay, so you’ve gotta go, okay. Just…you’re eating and stuff, right?”

 The cold edge of a knife was suddenly pressed against Steve’s throat, and Steve froze, holding his breath. “I can take care of myself, Captain,” Bucky hissed, dragging the knife away just gently enough to avoid cutting Steve’s skin.

 “Knowing how to kill me in a hundred different ways doesn’t mean you’re taking care of yourself.”

 Bucky started walking away again. “Don’t look for me,” he said.

 Steve sat there and waited for a minute before getting up. Bucky was long gone, of course.

 Sam laughed when Steve told him what had happened. “Looks like you got mission-zoned, pal,” he said between sips of his coffee, the smile wide and easy on his face.

 Steve glared at him and sullenly stabbed at his eggs. “I don’t even know what that means and I know that wasn’t necessary.”

 “Sorry, sorry. But seriously, he told you not to look for him. It doesn’t get clearer than that.”

 “I can’t just leave him alone out there, Sam! He needs me.”

 Sam set his mug down and gave Steve a pointed look. “Okay, I’m no shrink, but Steve, you gotta figure that this guy’s been someone else’s weapon for as long as you were on ice. How many choices do you think he’s gotten to make in all that time?”

 Steve lowered his eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

 “Oh you know exactly what it’s supposed to mean. Maybe he’s not the Winter Soldier anymore, but he’s not your friend Bucky that you grew up with. And if this is what he wants, you have to respect that.”

 Steve hunched over, crossing his arms defensively. Sam sighed. “Who needs who here?” he asked.

 “You don’t know what it’s like,” Steve said, “He was dead. I…he was _dead_ , and then I saw him but he’s not _him_ anymore and I feel like I’m losing him all over again.”

 “You’re making this about you, Steve.”

 “Well what _am_ I supposed to do then? I can’t just sit here.”

 Sam rolled his eyes. “Well, if you’re going to keep eating all my eggs then you could at least go buy some more. You’ve been here long enough that I should charge you rent. If Bucky or the Winter Soldier or whoever he is doesn’t want you to find him, then you’re a bad friend to try to force yourself into his life anyway. Give him some space.”

Wordlessly, Steve scooped the rest of the eggs on his plate into his mouth and got up. “Should I fetch your dry-cleaning while I’m at it?” he asked sarcastically.

 “Do I really look like the kind of guy who has _dry-cleaning_? Just find some way to entertain yourself for the day…unlike you, I still have a job to go to. Try not to sulk around the house too much.”

Honestly, Steve was grateful for even a simple errand like getting groceries to distract him, though he couldn’t relax while he was out in public. Bucky’s idle comment that there were still people looking for him made Steve nervous; what other places besides SHIELD had HYDRA managed to infiltrate in the seventy years he’d been on ice? It would be really nice if Natasha would answer his calls; he was completely out of his depth.

 “Aww c’mon sugar, don’t be so cold,” a man said, interrupting Steve’s thoughts. Just ahead, there was a bus stop, a woman stiffly seated on its bench while a man crowded into her personal space. “Pretty women travelling all alone like you should be nicer to the gentlemen they meet,” continued the man, a twisted grin on his face.

 Steve frowned. “Is everything okay, ma’am?” he called, jogging over to the bus stop, “this man giving you a hard time?”

 “Hey who asked you, asshole?” said the man, swinging his arm over the woman’s shoulder, “mind your own business, we’re just having fun, right, dollface?”

 Steve glanced at the woman, who perched on the bench like a tightly coiled spring. A wide-brimmed hat hid most of her face, only a frowning red mouth visible from Steve’s angle. “That true?” he asked.

 The woman shook her head. Steve grimaced, and put one hand firmly on the man’s shoulder. “I think you should go, sir,” he said softly, “it’d be a shame to make the lady uncomfortable.”

 The man for a moment looked like he was going to hit Steve, but he seemed to think better of it and yanked his arm away. “Sluts like her are too good for me anyway,” he growled, storming off.

 Steve watched him go with icy eyes before turning back to the woman. “I’m sorry, ma’am, are you alright?”

 The woman nodded. Glancing over her, Steve noticed that one of her arms was wrapped in bandages and hung in a sling over her chest. “He didn’t do that to you, did he?” he asked worriedly.

 The woman shook her head. Steve smiled a little, before shifting uncomfortably. “I’m sorry,” he said, “you probably just want me to leave you alone. I…” he glanced uneasily in the direction the man had stormed off in, “I’m sure you can take care of yourself…but in case someone like that bothers you again…”

 He took out his little notebook and quickly wrote his phone number on one of the blank pages, tearing it out and holding it out to her. He flushed suddenly. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, looking away, “You don’t need to take this. I don’t…I’m worried about a friend right now, but there’s nothing I can do for him, so I guess I’m just worrying about you instead…”

 The woman reached out suddenly with her good arm and took the piece of paper. Steve saw a brief flash of big blue eyes and dark hair before she was readjusting the brim of her hat again. He stood there awkwardly for a moment before rain began to pound on the roof of the bus stop. Steve swore under his breath, abruptly turning back to the woman and flushing red. “I’m sorry, ma’am, I didn’t mean to—”

The woman’s mouth quirked into a smile, and she stood up, her long dress nearly touching the ground. She pointed out behind Steve to the road. “I have to go now,” she said softly, barely audible over the sound of the drumming rain.

 Steve turned and saw that a bus had pulled up. “Oh,” he said, “Well…have a safe trip, ma’am. I’d offer you my jacket but I left it at home.”

The woman walked past him and out into the rain, quickly getting onto the bus. She didn’t look back. Steve waited until the bus had driven away before stepping out of the shelter and braving the rain back to Sam’s house.


	2. No one followed him

 The Winter Soldier stood in the bathroom of a small house in Cleveland. A woman who made him uncomfortable had been on the bus with him for the last hundred miles of his journey, and he’d decided to get off and lay low overnight before continuing west. The house wasn’t his, of course, but all signs pointed to its family being out of town, and for at least the next week if all the cat food they’d left lying out was anything to go by. It seemed adequate for his purposes, so here he was, staring at his reflection in the bathroom mirror.

 It amazed him how easy it was to misdirect searching eyes. He’d shaved his face that morning and layered on makeup he’d taken from a college girl’s bag that had been left unattended for too long on a park bench. A dress and a hat stolen from a laundromat, along with a simple disguise for his metal arm, and even the Captain himself had only seen some helpless woman at that bus stop.

 The sling was discarded on the floor, as were his clothes, which he would have hated to need to fight in. He scrubbed at his face until it was raw, leaving only the dark eyeliner, which he decided that he liked (it made his eyes sharp weapons in lieu of the knives that he should probably conceal for the time being). A quick search of the bathroom won him a well-stocked first aid kit, which he used to clean and rebandage his wounds from several days before.

Making sure that all the doors were locked and the blinds were down on the windows, the Winter Soldier curled up on a couch and closed his eyes, eventually falling asleep. He woke up two and a half hours later, heart pounding and his whole body shivering and his stomach hurting from hunger.

 The couch he lay on was soft, and not a cryo tube. His skin was warm and he could breathe, which he did, slowly until his body calmed down. It was dark and quiet, and the safety of the house didn’t appear to have been compromised in his sleep. He’d need to be able to start sleeping for longer periods of time if he was to keep his body strong and his mind alert, though maybe he just wasn’t tired enough yet.

He got up and quietly padded into the kitchen, surveying the room in the dark for something he could eat without cooking. Most of his missions hadn’t been long enough to require getting food; usually it was just supplied to him in some liquid and mostly tasteless form, so he wasn’t even certain what was food among all the items in cupboards and on the shelves. Stealing food from street vendors had been much easier than finding it in a pantry. Hoping he’d be able to tell if something was poisonous, he set about trying everything.

 The apple tasted good when he took a bite out of it, but the potato did not. Pasta was dry and impossible to chew, but there was a box of colorful cereal that went down easily enough, though it was very sweet. Peanut butter was good, though it stuck behind his teeth and the finger he used to scoop it out of the jar before he found a spoon. Potato chips crunched pleasantly in his mouth, but he felt very thirsty afterword and drank two whole bottles of water. The fridge was mostly empty, but there was a container of milk he drank out of, finding he liked the taste.

Feeling satiated, he set about exploring the house, quickly locating a drawer filled with cash, which he took, and another bathroom with a bathtub in it. After messing around, he managed to fill it with warm water, and scrubbed away the dirt and grease from his body. People who smelled bad attracted attention, so he lathered his skin with soaps that he thought smelled nice. When he was done, he tracked water all over the floor, and wrapped himself in a towel that he found hanging nearby. It was soft, and he liked it.

 Feeling better, he was able to curl up on a bed and fall asleep for another few hours, waking up just before sunrise. He dressed himself in jeans that were too tight and a warm coat, tying his hair with an elastic band and covering it with a baseball cap. He took an empty backpack he found hanging in a closet and took it to the pantry, filling it with bottles of water and another jar of peanut butter, along with his knives and a pair of gloves he would put on later when he needed to hide his metal hand. The cash he’d stolen, which counted up to $362.82, he put in as well.

While he tidied up the house so it wouldn’t be immediately apparent to its residents that someone else had been there, he found a cat, who’d curled up on top of the discarded dress and hat from the day before. The cat was soft, and didn’t try to scratch him as he gently pulled the clothes out from under it and dropped them in a laundry basket. A loose piece of paper fluttered out, and he idly petted the cat while he looked it over.

 It was frustrating that even when the Captain hadn’t recognized him, he’d still managed to insert himself into the Winter Soldier’s life, and he wondered what the hell he was supposed to do with the ten numbers the Captain had written down on that scrap of paper. Before he could change his mind, he tore the paper into tiny shreds; calling the Captain would negate the entire point of his leaving. There was no reason for him to keep that paper. Besides, he’d already memorized the numbers anyway.

He left the cat on the floor, and grabbed the first aid kit he’d left out from the night before, putting it in the backpack with the rest of his things. Swinging it on over his shoulders, he quietly exited the house through the back door. Readjusting the visor on his hat to obscure his face, he continued to make his way west. No one followed him.


	3. Where do you want to go?

“Hey mister, that seat taken?”

 The Winter Soldier glanced up at a girl, who dressed to look like she was eighteen but was probably closer to fourteen or fifteen. She’d entered from the back, fighting the current of disembarking passengers. He shrugged, and she wedged herself in the seat between him and the window. “Some assholes stole my purse,” she said, “but maybe if I sit next to a scary guy like you no one will ask me for bus fare.”

“Am I scary?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

 She raised an eyebrow. “And he speaks! No offense dude, cuz you’re totally rockin’ the guyliner, but you kinda look like the kind of weirdo that kidnaps blonde girls in cop shows.”

 “I have never made a point of targeting blonde girls.”

 She smiled bemusedly at him. “Well I’m glad you don’t discriminate, mister…”

 He hesitated. “Call me Roger,” he muttered, glancing around the bus.

 “Roger. Well, I’m Tiffany, oh oh, look alive, it’s them,” she hissed, gesturing to a group of boys that were getting on the bus.

 “You know who the thieves are?”

 “Not like it does me any good. Tall and ugly over there’s the sheriff’s son, the little shit. None of the cop’s’ll listen to a black girl badmouthing their golden boy and his little friends.”

 “Is your purse in his backpack?”

 “I guess…if he didn’t sell it already. It’s a Coach…I saved up months to get it.”

 The Winter Soldier looked over the boy in question, and frowned. He was loud and irritating, and taking up much more room then someone should. He felt a ringing in his ears and got up, walking over to where the boy stood arguing with an old woman, who refused to give him her seat. Everyone who might have been watching was watching the boy, so no one was watching the Winter Soldier as he quickly unzipped the boy’s backpack and grabbed the leather purse inside before slipping back to his seat, wordlessly handing the purse to Tiffany.

 Tiffany stared at him, mouth gaping. “D-did you really just do that?” she stammered, “What the hell? You just walked right over there and took it!”

 The Winter Soldier shrugged. It wasn’t that impressive…he hadn’t even killed anyone. The boy still hadn’t noticed anything, and neither had anyone else. “You should be able to pay your bus fare now,” he said, glancing over at her.

Tiffany laughed. “Forget that! I’m buying my hero some lunch…quick, let’s get off at the next stop before dickweed over there notices me." 

She yanked him out of his seat and pulled him to the door, leading him out into the streets of Chicago. “I don’t need food,” he said, “I have peanut butter.”

“Eating like a king I see. Hot dogs or pizza. Choose.”

The Winter Soldier blinked, and realized that the ringing in his ears had stopped. “I like milk…”

Tiffany smiled up at him. “You really are a weirdo aren’t ya? Well, cheese is made with milk, so let’s go get pizza.”

 The Winter Soldier liked pizza, though he hated the mushrooms that came on it. He found himself surprisingly inept with the utensils required to eat his pizza, and the gloves he needed to wear to hide his metal hand didn’t help. Tiffany didn’t say anything about it, though she did laugh when he managed to slice his food with too much force and knock her glass of water into her lap. She assured him not to worry and ran to the bathroom to clean up, leaving him to watch the table.

Idly he opened up her purse (which she’d left in her chair) and cataloged its contents, quickly finding her wallet and phone. He left the wallet but took the phone, which was old enough to have buttons instead of a touch screen. Impulsively, he opened up a text message to the Captain’s number, typing out _Did James Buchannan Barnes like pizza?_ and hitting send before he could change his mind.

 Almost immediately, he received a reply. _Who is this? Bucky, is that you? Where are you?_

How boring. _What about mushrooms, did he like those?_ he typed, hitting send before deleting the message history. The phone was back in Tiffany’s purse just as she came back out of the bathroom, looking about as wet as she had when she’d gone in. “See? All better,” she said cheerfully, sitting back down and checking her phone. She made a face.

 “What is it?” asked the Winter Soldier, sipping at his milk.

 Tiffany shrugged. “I dunno, I just got a message from someone I don’t know. ‘Bucky loved mushrooms?’ Um…W-R-O-N-G N-U-M-B-E-R,” she spelled out.

The Winter Soldier stared out the window, finding it hard again to meet Tiffany’s eyes. “I should go,” he said.

 “Where ya going?”

 “West.”

 “You’re not bothering me, you know. You’re actually pretty entertaining, considering that I’m still not sure you haven’t killed a man.”

 “I’ve killed more than one man, and women too.”

 She laughed. “Watch out…you say it so seriously and people will believe you. What’s west?”

 The Winter Soldier shifted in his seat. “I’m not looking for something…I’m leaving something behind.”

 “Oh, a fresh start, getting out of town, I get it. I’m getting out of here soon as I can myself.”

 “Where do you want to go?”

 Tiffany’s eyes glittered. “I’m gonna be a pilot. I’ll join the Air Force if I’ve gotta, but I’m gonna fly one day, mark my words.”

 The Winter Soldier believed her. “If the sheriff’s son bothers you again,” he said, “hit him on the left side of his face. His left arm is slower, and he won’t react as quickly. Or just poke his eyes out. That might be easier, actually.”

 “Aww…Mister I’ve-killed-more-than-one-man, I'm touched! Make sure you eat more than just peanut butter, okay?”

 The Winter Soldier nodded, getting out of his seat and grabbing his backpack. “Thank you,” he said, turning away.

 “Wait! Can I…this is weird, but, do you want a hug?”

 “What?”

 “I mean, you've helped me out majorly, and you seem like a nice guy, and buses are lonely…”

 The Winter Soldier shrugged, staring resolutely at the floor. Tiffany got up and wrapped her thin arms around him, securely but not tightly. It would be easy to get away if he wanted to…and he already knew she had no weapons. He wasn’t really sure what to do with his arms, so he just let them hang by his sides until Tiffany let go. “You’re supposed to hug back, you weirdo,” she said playfully.

“I’m sorry.”

 “Shit, you don’t gotta apologize, you dweeb! It’s alright. It was nice to meet you, Roger.”

 “It was nice to meet you too.”

 Tiffany smiled, but then frowned when her phone beeped at her. “Ugh, it’s that same number. What the hell? I feel like I’m being interrogated. Ugh, go away…” she whined to her screen, furiously typing out a response.

 “He’s very persistent, isn’t he?” the Winter Soldier muttered darkly.

 “Yeah, tell me about it,” Tiffany groaned, “Wait, do you—”

 She looked up from her phone in surprise, but the Winter Soldier had already made a rapid retreat, leaving her alone in the restaurant.  Her phone beeped furiously as someone sent message after message, no doubt demanding to know where 'Bucky' was.

Meanwhile, the Winter Soldier stepped onto the nearest bus heading west, and left Chicago behind. No one followed him.


	4. I told you not to look for me

“Birdbrain, tell the Cap to stop brooding in my car. Angst doesn’t wash out of leather.”

Sam sighed, and turned to look into the backseat. “Steve, we only have to put up with Stark for a little longer, we’re almost there.”

“You do realize that there’s no way that your boyfriend’s gonna be there, right?”

 Steve sighed. “Please just drive, it’s the first lead we’ve had.”

 “Seriously though, what the hell’s he doing in Chicago?” Tony asked, “He could at least go somewhere fun.”

 “It’s probably a goose chase, honestly. That kid doesn’t want to be found, and he’s hiding from bigger fish than you, Steve.”

 “What encouraging friends I have,” muttered Steve, staring sullenly out the window.

 Tony shrugged. “Hey, I’m just saying what Natasha would say.”

 “Oh look, we’re here,” Sam interrupted in relief, pointing out the window to a house.

 Steve was out almost before the car had stopped, running to knock on the door. A dark-skinned woman with a cloud of black hair answered. “Can I help you?” she asked with a warm smile.

 “Yes please, ma’am, may we come in?”

 “Mrs. Taylor I’ll get right to the point,” cut in Tony, waltzing into the house like he owned it, “has anyone in your family lost their cellphone in the past couple days?”

 “Is that Tony Stark?!” asked a girl excitedly from the other room, running up to the entryway, “Wow, it’s so awesome to meet you!”

 “Tiffany!” the woman scolded, “Mind your manners, we have guests. Do you three mind sitting in the kitchen?”

 “Not at all, ma’am,” said Steve.

 Mrs. Taylor quickly seated them with water, listening to Tony explain how he had tracked the texts Steve had received to this location and this family’s cell phone plan. It had been days since Bucky had vanished from DC after that one last conversation in the park, and despite realizing that Sam was probably (definitely) right in that he should give Bucky his space if he wanted it, he’d never been very good about doing what he was supposed to do where Bucky was concerned. He idly doodled on his napkin, noticing the model airplanes that had been hastily piled onto the counter.

 “Holy shit, that’s the guy!” The girl, Tiffany, had been standing behind him at the sink washing dishes, trying to look like she wasn’t paying attention to the conversation. Now she was staring open-mouthed at Steve’s doodle, which was, as most of his doodles were lately, a rough sketch of Bucky’s face. Steve whirled around. “You’ve seen him before? You’ve seen Bucky?!?”

 Tiffany’s face fell. “Are you serious?” she groaned, “That’s _Bucky?_ That means that you’re the guy who randomly started texting me. Ugh…that little shit knew and didn’t say anything!”

 “You _talked_ to him?” asked Sam.

 Tiffany squirmed. “Yeah, I guess. He helped me out, we got pizza, the end.”

 “Tiffany, who is this man?” asked Mrs. Taylor, her eyes like steel.

 “Ma I told you, this is the guy that got my purse back from Stanley Parker for me. I bought him pizza as a thank you.”

 Tony started cackling. “Oh my God!” he gasped, “this is the greatest thing I’ve heard all month. Hun, do you have any idea who this guy is?”

 Tiffany gritted her teeth. “Should I?” she asked.

 “He’s the world’s most fearsome assassin,” said Sam, “We’re trying to track him down.”

 “What?!?” Tiffany shrieked, “There’s no way! I mean, he was a total weirdo but he was just a guy. He got my purse back…he picked all the mushrooms off his pizza and stacked them into a weird and obsessive little pile and glared at it like a cat, I…” she closed her eyes, “…oh my God. That wasn’t a joke, he was serious. He’s…he’s killed people?”

 “Probably hundreds at this point,” said Tony nonchalantly, “and you had pizza with him. That practically makes you a murderer too.”

 “Stop it, Tony,” said Steve, “it’s alright, you’re not in trouble, Tiffany. Do you know where he went?”

 “He said he was heading west,” she said, “to leave something behind or something like that. Wow…assassins drink milk.”

Tony wheezed, nearly falling over in his chair. Steve frowned. “I guess that means he isn’t going home…” he said.

 “He’d be stupid if he did, Steve,” said Sam, “wouldn’t Brooklyn be the first place they looked for him?”

 “’They?’” asked Mrs. Taylor, “Just how many people are looking for this guy?”

 “We’re not sure, ma’am,” said Steve.

 “Nazis and other sundry comic book villains from the forties,” added Tony, “it’s kinda pathetic, really.”

 “But it would be very bad if any of them found him,” said Sam.

 Tiffany sat down. “Are you guys _sure_ he’s an assassin?” she asked, “I mean, he was wearing guyliner and skinny jeans, and I’m pretty sure he’s been living off of peanut butter…”

 “Was he alright?!” Steve asked.

 “I guess he seemed fine? Isn’t that a bad thing though, if he’s some kind of super-assassin?”

 Suddenly Steve’s phone beeped, and he pulled it out to see that he had a text from a number not in his contacts. _Why do people not guard their valuables?_

  _Bucky where are you? Are you safe?_ Steve typed back. “I think he’s texted me again,” he said out loud, glancing at Tony.

 Tony sighed and pulled out his own phone. “What’s the number? I’ll track it.”

 Steve got another text. _This is the man whose phone I am borrowing._ it read, accompanying a picture of a middle-aged man sleeping on a bus. Steve quickly rattled off the number and showed the picture to Tony. “Can you find him?”

 “Duh. But you probably are more interested in Sad-Trash-Hobo than Mid-Life-Crisis, who I _cannot_ find presently.”

  _People have so many bizarre applications on their phones. Flappy Bird especially seems dangerous…I will uninstall it for this man. I hope you have stopped bothering Tiffany. She knows who she is, and doesn’t need you distracting her. She’s going to be a pilot._

 “Oh hey, world’s most fearsome assassin remembers me!” said Tiffany, reading the text over Steve’s shoulder.

 “That’s not a good thing, kid,” said Sam worriedly as Steve typed out _Bucky, please tell me where you are._

  _I’m not Bucky, and I told you not to look for me._ said the reply.

 “Did you ever consider that he’s just not that into you?” asked Tony, tongue between his teeth, “Got it. He’s near Des Moines.”

 “How fast can we get there?”

 “Eh, in like five hours if I drive slow enough to keep an old man like you happy. Unless Bird Boy flies us there, of course.”

 “Then we should go now,” said Steve, getting up, “Thank you for your help,” he said to Tiffany and her mother.

 Mrs. Taylor nodded. “It was no problem, Mister…”

 “Rogers.”

 Tiffany gaped. "Whoa, really?" she asked.

Steve frowned.  "Yes?"

“Sorry...it's just, he told me his name was Roger,” Tiffany said.

 Steve froze. “Really??” he asked.

 Tiffany shrugged. “Yeah, I guess.”

 “Well that’s really cute,” said Sam, “but we’ve got another dead end to get to, don’t we?”

 “Yeah, let’s go,” said Steve, “Sorry to have bothered you both.”

 “Sure…” said Tiffany, “Good luck, I guess.”

 Steve smiled. “Thank you.”


	5. I needed to find him

The road signs said that they’d just entered Omaha, and since the man sitting next to him had gotten off a couple hours before to transfer to a northbound bus, he’d been left alone to sprawl over the long back seat, blinking back sleep as he shivered and rolled uncomfortably.  It was dark, and the bus was sparsely populated, the only noteworthy passengers being a family of five, with a baby and a small child who had both been crying for the past thirty miles.  The sound stabbed behind his eyes and made him feel dizzy, though the fact that he’d eaten the last of the peanut butter hours ago probably was contributing more to his discomfort than a loud child.

Mercifully, the family rose to disembark at the next stop, apologizing to the few other passengers for the noise.  He watched them leave through the curtain of his hair, blearily hoping that without the noise he might sleep, but knowing that it was unlikely.  Both crying children were carried off the bus, and it was soon blissfully quiet.

A sudden noise had his heart pumping and his knife out, lunging out of the seat until he realized that it had come from a child crawling out from under a nearby seat.  He was small, with blonde hair, blue eyes, and little shoulders.  His eyes were wide.  “Are you gonna kill me, mister?” he whispered.

The Winter Soldier put the knife away, and looked over the boy wearily.  “Didn’t your family just get off?” he asked.

“Yeah!” said the boy, “but I’d lost Captain America, and I needed to find him,” he explained, holding out a colorful plastic toy that he’d evidently fished out from under the seat, “he’s not as cool as Thor but he’s still pretty cool.”

The Winter Soldier stared bewilderedly at the figurine of the Captain, the costume different from the one he had seen when the Captain was his mission, but seeming familiar nevertheless.  “Well, you found him,” he said, lying back down on the seat and closing his eyes.

He heard the boy get up and walk away, and soon the bus doors opened.  He opened one eye and saw the boy getting off the bus and running off into the night.  Something stirred under his skin, and he rolled out of the seat and out of the bus just as the doors hissed shut behind him.  He followed the boy from a short distance for a while, quickly determining that the boy had no idea where he was going.  Before long, the boy slumped down on his knees and started crying.

The cries pierced his ears like knives, and he was upon the boy in seconds, covering his mouth and motioning for him to be quiet.  “You’ll never find them like that,” he whispered.

The boy sniffled, a few tears dripping down onto the hand covering his mouth.  “Do you want my help?” asked the Winter Soldier.

The boy nodded, and the Winter Soldier took his hand off the boy’s mouth.  “Then hold on,” he said, scooping the boy up and running back in the direction of the stop his family had gotten off at.

When they came to a busy road, rather than waiting for the traffic to turn the Winter Soldier simply leapt silently from car to car, out of sight before any late-night pedestrians could notice him.  “WOW!” shouted the boy, ruining any possibility of stealth, “Mister, are you a superhero?”

The Winter Soldier wasn’t sure how to respond to that, feeling something grow tight in his chest as he shook his head and kept running.  Luckily he didn’t have to deal with any more of the boy’s questions, because they’d come upon the boy’s parents, who were frantically calling for him as they slowly fanned out from their bus stop.

The mother noticed him first.  Her blue eyes went wide as she took in the sight of the Winter Soldier carrying her son, and the Winter Soldier set him down, stepping away to let the mother run to her child.  She smiled gratefully at him, turning to call her husband.  In the moment her head was turned, the Winter Soldier ducked into an alley, quickly leaving the family behind.

He felt that he should be wary, realizing in hindsight that he’d probably attracted more attention than he could afford.  Had that traffic intersection had cameras?  He swore to himself for not noticing, for getting too caught up in helping the little blond boy.  He began to hear a ringing in his ears, and something in his chest felt cold.  His steps felt wooden, and he swayed on his feet.

If it weren’t for the ringing in his ears, he might have had a split second’s warning to dodge before a bullet pierced his metal shoulder.  It had probably been meant for something made of flesh.  The Winter Soldier snarled, and everything went white.

When the color came back, three bodies lay in bloody pools around him, and sirens wailed in the distance.

He screamed.


	6. I want to live! I want to live!

With a few bags full of stuff Steve hadn’t realized had accumulated over at Sam’s place in the weeks since they’d met, Steve eased open the door of his apartment and stepped in, making his way to his washing machine in the dark. As he passed through the living room, a light turned on, and Natasha was there, lounging in his couch. He sighed and set down his bags. “Those are my pajamas,” he said fondly, nudging her feet out of the way so he could sit, “and I hope you didn’t use all the shampoo.”

 She smiled a lazy-cat smile and rested her feet in his lap. “Welcome home,” she said, “can I offer you a glass of water?”

Steve looked over at the end table and sure enough, there was a glass of ice water resting there, condensation beading on the outside. Bemusedly, he reached over to grab it. “To what do I owe this pleasure?” he asked, “especially after weeks of radio silence from you.”

“There’s a loose thread in your rug,” she said, “I came to tell you to cut it off before the whole thing starts to unravel.”

 “We’re not having this conversation, ‘tasha.”

 “Oh we’re definitely having this conversation,” she snapped, pulling her feet away and sitting up straight, “I refuse to watch you waste your life hunting down a ghost who very probably still wants to kill you.”

 “He doesn’t want to kill me, ‘tasha. Bucky’s still in there, I know it. I’m not going to give up on him.”

 He didn’t get even a moment’s warning before Natasha had lashed out a foot, knocking the glass out of his hand and onto the floor. She stared grimly at the shards of glass as the water seeped away into the rug. “Don’t worry,” she said calmly, “I’m sure your water’s still in there somewhere.”

 “What the _fuck_ was that for?!” Steve shouted, “Why are you so certain about this? You don’t know him, you don’t know anything about him.”

 “I know _everything_ about him,” she said calmly, “I may not know Bucky Barnes, but the Winter Soldier and I shared an employer. I assure you, when I say that I don’t trust that he he’s not about to relapse into his programming and start killing people, I speak from experience. _He doesn’t know anything else._ ”

 Blissfully, right at that moment Steve’s cell phone began to ring. Natasha raised an eyebrow. “This late?” she asked, “Who is it?”

 It was a number Steve didn’t recognize. “That’s strange,” he muttered as he pushed the answer button, “if it’s him, he’s never called before.”

  _“He’s a ghost! He’s a ghost, I’m a ghost!”_ Bucky shrieked over the phone, causing Steve to clutch at his ears in pained surprise.

 “Whoa whoa, Bucky, it’s okay," said Steve, holding the phone gingerly, "you’re okay, what’s going on?”

 “ _No!_ I’m not him, I’m _alive!_ I’m alive, I’m alive! I want to live! I want to live!”

 “Shhhh okay, it’s okay, where are you?”

 “I—”

 Bucky’s voice was abruptly cut off, and a gruff male voice began to speak in the phone instead. “This is Lieutenant Greg Harold, of the Omaha Police Department. You mind telling me who you are, and why you’re friends with a murder suspect?”

Steve’s blood ran cold. “Officer, I’m sure there’s been some kind of misunderstanding.”

 “Misunderstand us finding your friend wigging out in the middle of a dark alley with blood on his hands and three bodies around him. Also a metal arm. You’re welcome to come try and bail him out but it’s a lost cause.”

Suddenly Steve could hear muffled shouting over the phone, and the officer on the phone with him snarled. “You stay on the line,” he said, before presumably putting the phone down and walking away.

 Steve strained his ears and could just barely make out some of what they were saying. “What do you mean he got away?” he heard Lieutenant Greg shouting, “we had him cuffed and surrounded, where the _fuck_ did he go??!”

 Steve heard a muffled reply before Lieutenant Greg barked, “Well _find_ him! I don’t care if you have to turn this whole city upside-down, _find him!_ ”

 For one heart-stopping moment, there was silence. Then Lieutenant Greg returned to the phone. “So your friend’s flown the coop. Any clue where he might have gone?”

 “No, sir, but I’d be happy to come down and help you find him.”

 “Leave police work to the police. Who the fuck are you anyway?”

 “Steve Rogers, sir.”

 “Yeah, my ass. Just tell us if you find him so we can drag his sorry ass back here.”

 The lieutenant hung up, and Steve sat there numbly for a moment. “It would be child’s play for the Winter Soldier to escape a police station filled with competent officers,” said Natasha, “let alone one filled with idiots. They didn’t even ask you his name.”

 Steve got up and grabbed a jacket. “And where are _you_ going?” asked Natasha, following him with her eyes, “You’d better not be going where I think you’re going.”

 “He needs me, ‘tasha.”

 “He needs to be put out of his misery!” Natasha shouted, “Do you need more proof that he’s beyond hope? He _killed_ people, Steve.”

 “We don’t know that.”

 “Sure we don’t. Because it’s so hard to believe.”

 “I trust him.”

 “Because you’re an idiot.”

 “I trust you too.”

 Natasha sighed. “ _Exactly_ ,” she said.

 Steve turned away resolutely. “You can't stop me, 'tasha.  Make sure you lock up on your way out.”

 “No, hold up,” groaned Natasha, “Give me a sec to change out of your pajamas, and I’ll come with you.”

 Steve smiled. “Thanks, ‘tasha.”

 “Hey, what are friends for besides babysitting you while you track down Soviet-programmed human weapons that probably intend to kill you?”

 “He’s not going to kill me.”

 “No. You stop that right now. I’ll go along with everything else you do on this, to a point, but you _have_ to prepare yourself for the possibility that he’s going to try to kill you. You were his mission, his last real order as far as we know was to kill you. Even if he’s free from them now, there’s no guarantee he’s free from their programming, and you’re disrespecting the horror he’s gone through if you don’t acknowledge that.”

 Steve’s face sobered. “I know, Natasha, but what else can I do?”

 “Stay here and ask out that nice barista who flirted with you yesterday.”

 “You know that’s not an option right now.”

 “I guess I’m just as much of a sucker for lost causes as you, then.”


	7. I worry about him all the time

It had taken some waving of his ID and signing autographs, but Steve had managed to get himself and Natasha (disguised with some modern magic as a middle-aged blonde woman) into the morgue where the three bodies were being stored. Some smiling and “your country appreciates your work”’s, and they were left alone in the morgue. As Steve uncovered them, Natasha’s eyes widened and she let out a whistle. “Talk about overkill,” she said, gesturing at the mutilated corpses.

“What a horrible way to die,” Steve said, wincing.

Natasha leaned in closer. “Not really,” she said, pointing to bullet holes in each of their foreheads, “they were killed instantly. All the rest of this came after they were dead.”

Steve felt a chill go up his spine. The thought of Bucky – no, the Winter Soldier, Bucky would never have done anything like this – attacking anyone so _viciously_ , was nauseating. He could see the marks of that metal hand all over the three bodies (two men and a woman, all wearing suits), some gouge marks so deep it looked like the Winter Soldier had been actively trying to pull out their hearts. He swallowed hard, and looked at Natasha, eyes widening in horror when he saw that she was smiling slightly.

“This isn’t how the Winter Soldier kills,” she said, “He would have left it at three headshots. None of the rest of this is in his programming.”

“I don’t see how this matters,” said Steve.

“It matters because now I don’t think this is as lost a cause as I did last night.”

“Well that makes one of us.”

Natasha smiled sympathetically. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but you shouldn’t give up just yet. I said this isn’t something the Winter Soldier wouldn’t do…that means that he’s acting outside of his programming, even in a situation like this.”

“I’m not sure I can be happy he’s mutilating corpses. And there’s still the fact that he killed them.”

Natasha pulled out a gun from her coat pocket. “This is the firearm that killed these men,” she said, “It has six shots, but according to their witnesses four shots were fired. There are two shots left.”

Steve glanced back at the bodies. “But there are only three bullet holes. Where’s the fourth bullet?”

“Since the woman and one of the men had identical guns on their persons, this probably belongs to the second man. The Winter Soldier must have disarmed him and shot all three of them, but he doesn’t miss.”

“So they shot him first!”

“And he panicked," Natasha said, staring grimly down at the bodies, “I don’t know who these people are, but I’m sure they were hunting the Winter Soldier. It could be Hydra, or another organization that wants him.”

“Well, now the police are hunting him too,” said Steve, hunching his shoulders.

He felt his eyes water. An image came unbidden into his mind of Bucky hiding in some filthy dark place, as many monsters in his mind as outside it. He clenched his fists helplessly, because he’d failed Bucky _again_.

Natasha touched his shoulder, and a tension he hadn’t realized he had in his muscles drained out. He leaned into the touch and sighed. “He’s a human for you to help,” she said, “Not a memory for you to save. And we _can_ help him if we can stop the police's manhunt for him.”

“’tasha, we can’t prove to the police that they shouldn’t be trying to catch him. I mean, he didn’t attack any of the officers at least, but…”

Natasha smiled. “How about you go down to that little diner we passed on our way here…get a milkshake and some food in you, and let me take care of this?” 

“...oh my God ‘tasha, what are you going to do?”

“Shh…just let me take care of this. I can’t have you getting all Star Spangled Squeamish on me. Buy me a burger too, I’m ravenous.”

Steve felt like he should be embarrassed about how little convincing it took to get him out of the police station and away from Natasha, but he’d always had this sort of problem where Bucky was concerned. He still sullenly walked down the street to the diner, which, while definitely a modern establishment, reminded him of places he’d gone seventy years in the past. He chatted with the waitress after he’d ordered his food, idly sketching the view of the street from the big glass window in front.

When the waitress went off to serve other tables, his pencil moved onto other things, tracing out the wild-eyed photo of Bucky he’d been shown at the police department, the interior of the diner, and his cup of coffee. He’d nearly filled the page in his sketchbook when the waitress came back with his food, nearly dropping the plate with a yelp. “That’s him!” she said.

This was beginning to become a pattern. “You know him?” Steve asked, pointing at the sketch of Bucky’s face.

Her eyes were big. “Do _you?_ ” she asked, “I need to thank him…I got separated from my son last night and we couldn’t find him, but your friend brought him back. My son won’t stop talking about him.” 

Steve thought he might cry. “Bucky found your kid?” he asked, not quite believing it.

“Yes! He didn’t get off the bus with us and we didn’t notice until the bus had already driven away…it had been a long night and both the girls were crying, and we were so afraid that something horrible would happen to him…he’s such a good boy, do you want to see him?”

Without waiting she pulled out her wallet and opened it to a picture of three children, the oldest being a skinny blonde boy wearing a t-shirt with the Captain America shield on it. Steve cleared his throat awkwardly. “They all seem like good kids,” he said.

“Yeah, though I worry about him all the time. He’s so little for his age, but it’s like he refuses to believe it. I’m worried he’s going to start getting himself into trouble when he gets older, though I guess he already is.”

A weird half smile worked its way onto Steve’s face. “Yeah…Bucky always was a sucker for kids like that.”

“So you’ll tell him ‘thank you’ for me?”

“It’ll be the first thing I say when I see him, ma’am.”

The woman smiled, and left him there with his food, but he didn’t have a chance to take a bite before the diner’s glass front door swung open, and Natasha strolled in, an easy smile on her face. “I took care of it,” she said, grabbing some of Steve’s fries, “So where next?”

Steve frowned at his plate. “I think I’ve been going about this in the wrong way,” he said.

Natasha raised an eyebrow. “I can’t imagine where you’re getting that idea.”

“Yeah yeah I know, I’m stupid and have no idea what I’m doing. But I want to help Bucky…so if he’s avoiding me right now I have to help him in a different way.”

Natasha’s eyes lit up. “You mean going after his hunters.”

Steve nodded. “I think that’s the best way to help him right now.”

Natasha snorted and grabbed his burger, leaning back in her chair. “I could help out with that,” she said before taking a bite.

Steve thought that meant that she was impressed.


	8. I don't want to let go

The Winter Soldier did not shiver, but the man huddled in the sewers did. Teeth chattering, with a ringing sound piercing his ears, he coiled up as tightly as he could, wondering how he could feel colder now than he ever had in his cryo chamber. A sound that might have been footsteps reached his ears, and he bolted, judging it safe enough to go outside now that it was dark.

He fled the brightly-lit parts of the city filled with harmless people that would point and draw attention to him, and slipped into the kinds of crowds he had a chance of blending in amongst with his greasy hair and filthy clothes. He almost pickpocketed several people he passed, but always stopped at the last second. Soon he found himself among what he supposed were his people now: the homeless of the city.

His stomach growled furiously. He swallowed hard and set his jaw, seeking a wall to lie against while he rested. He didn’t dare sleep yet, but he thought he might be able to close his eyes for a moment here. There was a fire that ten or so people had gathered around, and he decided to rest near there, hoping that the people around him would be wise enough not to engage him in conversation.

“Hey newcomer! You look hungry, come here!”

No such luck. The words came from a man whose face was red and shiny, looking up from the pot he was stirring over the fire. “You’re just in time,” said the man, “Food’s done. There ain’t much, but we can always feed one more.”

“I’m not hungry.”

The man burst out laughing, and several of the others around the fire did as well. “Man, you really must be new if you’re still acting like that. Too good to eat with us? I promise it ain’t poisoned.”

The man who was not the Winter Soldier hesitantly approached the fire, warily eyeing the red-faced man as he was handed a steaming bowl of soup. The others served themselves, eating their portions with gusto and talking amongst themselves. Sipping at the hot soup, the man began to relax, the ringing in his ears fading away.

Other people came and went, only the red-faced man staying to stir the pot and laugh. Eventually a few teenagers came bringing a portable radio, to the delight of everyone nearby. They all crowded around as the teenagers cycled through the stations, shouting out requests for different kinds of music.

_—To return to our story on the government’s response to Captain—_

_—throw my hands up in the air—_

_—was Mozart’s seventeenth—_

_—_ _пять-три-два-девять-шесть—_

_—ain’t nothin’ but a—_

_—walk this empty street on the—_

“Wait, go back a few,” said one of the men, “it sounded weird…”

One of the teenagers shrugged and twisted the dial.

_—_ _два-девять-шесть-шесть-три-_ _ноль-четыре-пять-три-два —_

“Turn that off Jaimie,” said a girl, “go back to the music, this is creepy.”

The man huddled by the fire felt his heart began to pound, and the ringing in his ears grew like a vice over his head. His stomach rolled.

_—_ _четыре-пять-три-два-девять-шесть-шесть-три-ноль—_

“What is that?” asked the red-faced man, wiping his face, “Is that some robot lady? Makes my skin crawl.”

“It is numbers,” said an older woman with a thick accent, “Russian numbers.”

_—_ _пять-три-два-девять-шесть-шесть-три-ноль-четыре-пять-три-два-девять-шесть-шесть-три-ноль-четыре-пять-три-два-девять-шесть-шесть—_

The Winter Soldier blinked slowly, taking it his surroundings. He had no idea where he was or how to return to his owners; he had become compromised.

_—_ _шесть-шесть-три-ноль-четыре-пять-три-два-девять-шесть-шесть-три-ноль-четыре—_

Wordlessly, he reached into his jacket where he’d kept his knife. It was no longer as sharp as he would like, but it would have to do. His hands were steady as he slowly angled the blade toward his throat.

_—_ _три-ноль-четыре-пять-три-два-девять-шесть-шесть-три-ноль-четыре-пять-три-два—_

“Hey! Hey man what the fuck are you doing?!?” someone shouted, but the Winter Soldier ignored them.

_—_ _два-девять-шесть-шесть-три-ноль-четыре-пять-три-два-девять—_

Someone slapped the Winter Soldier across the face, while another attempted the wrestle the knife from his grip. “C’mon man!” they said, “don’t go killing yourself! You don’t gotta do that, you’ve got friends here. See, my name’s Rigel, dumb name right? Let’s be friends, c’mon, put the knife down. You can put it down and sit by the fire and relax, okay? Tell me who you are, let’s be friends. ”

_—_ _девять-шесть-шесть-три-ноль-четыре-пять-три-два-девять-шесть-шесть-три—_

_2-9-6-6-3-0-4-5-3-2_

_Who are you?_

_9-6-6-3-0-4-5-3-2-9-6-6-3-0-4-5-3-2-5-9-6_

“Somebody get help!” someone shouted, “I can’t get him to let go!”

_3-2-9-6-6-3-0-4-5-3-2-5-5-9-6-6-3_

“I don’t want to let go,” he whispered, his hand beginning to shake.

_0-4-5-3-2-5-5-7-9-6-6-3-0-4_

The blade of his knife pressed against his throat like a kiss, only the efforts of three or four people keeping it from breaking the skin.

_4-5-3-2-5-5-7-3-2-5-5-7-3-2-5-5-7-3-2-5-5-7-3-2-5-5-7_

_—_ _девять-шесть-шесть-три-ноль-четыре-пять—_

“Turn the radio off,” he said, “I don’t want to let go.”

The radio was immediately switched off, and in the silence he found that he could drop his arm. He felt his body begin to convulse, and before he could do anything else he vomited out the soup he’d just eaten, bile splashing on the ground. The ringing in his ears faded, and he gulped down air, growing dizzy and losing his balance.

Someone caught him before his head hit the ground, and his vision blurred until all he could see was the flickering fire, then nothing.

He woke a few hours later, several people, including the red-faced man, sitting near him and watching him. “What happened?” one of them asked.

He looked down at his hands, still covered by gloves. “I don’t know,” he answered.

The red-faced man sighed. “Well, it’s over now. You alright?”

“I’m alive,” he replied.

“Yeah,” said the man, “you are.”


	9. I have faith in him

“You know, if you asked out that cute girl at your favorite art supply store, you’d have someone other than me to hang out with.”

“Oh my God Natasha, give it a rest. You’re supposed to be helping me here.”

Natasha rolled her eyes. “Sorry…just trying to cheer myself up.” 

Steve frowned. “Why…what happened?”

She got up and walked over to the small table in their hotel room, where there was a small radio. “Listen to this…I found it while you were out.”

She switched the radio on, and Steve immediately felt a chill go up his spine. A flat, monotone and robotic female voice crackled over the radio, sounding like an old recording.

 _—pyat-tri-dva-dyevit-shest-shest-tri-nol-chetirye-pyat-tri-dva_ — 

“What the hell is that? It’s creeping me out…is it Russian? It sounds Russian.”

Natasha nodded. “It’s a repeating nine-digit sequence, 0-4-5-3-2-9-6-6-3. This is how we’re going to start." 

“With what? What does this have to do with anything?”

Natasha pursed her lips. “I’ve been casually monitoring the radios since everything went public…this transmission definitely wasn’t being broadcast a few days ago. I called Clint and he says he can get it from his radio too, which means it’s being broadcast all over the country. I haven’t been able to reach Fury, but it’s probably being broadcast in Europe too, and everywhere they can get a signal tower up.”

“Okay. What’s important about it?”

“Well, I can’t be sure, but I can make a pretty educated guess. They’re broadcasting it wherever they can, so they _really_ want someone to hear it. They put a lot of codes like this into our brains…hearing it would trigger the agent’s response. It’s short, so it can’t be anything too complicated, but…”

“Wait…so you’re saying they’re trying to use this to get to Bucky?”

“To get to the Winter Soldier. Bucky Barnes doesn’t have any programming in his brain for them to use.”

“What’s it gonna do to him?”

Natasha’s face grew dark. “They’ve lost one of their most important operatives and they have no idea where he is. They know he was behaving erratically after his run-in with you, and now he’s on the run and could be revealing all kinds of information they don’t want to go public, or could have even defected to our side for all they know. This isn’t all they’re doing…they must have people looking for him, but if they don’t find him he still might hear this. My best guess? It’s a kill switch. Given the choice between losing him or losing him to us, they’d choose the first every time.”

“What?! They can _do_ that?!”

Natasha nodded grimly. “There’s one in me too. I have methods for dealing with it and the others, and they gave up on me a long time ago. But if the Winter Soldier hears this, it’s over.” 

Steve felt like he might be sick. “’tasha…what if he’s heard it already? No one’s seen him since he got out of Omaha.”

“If he’s already heard this, then he’s dead. But if he hasn’t yet, we might be able to help him if we stop their broadcasts.”

“Well then what are we waiting for?! Let’s go!”

Natasha slid a map toward him, several bright red dots near Omaha, plus a few others across America. “These are the ones I’ve found so far, plus the ones Clint and my other associates can speak for. When Stark calls me back we’ll be able to search much larger areas. This isn’t a mission, Steve, this is going to take months, even if they don’t replace the radio towers we destroy. I’m not going to be able to help you all the time.” 

“That’s fine, whatever you gotta do. I’ll call Sam.”

Natasha sighed. “You really need more friends.”

“That’s the whole point of this operation, ‘tasha.”

“No it’s not,” snapped Natasha, her eyes steely, “the “whole point” is helping someone who’s suffered more than you can imagine because it’s the right thing to do, _not_ because you get your old friend back at the end. Do you understand me?”

Steve recoiled sharply, and dropped his eyes to the floor. Natasha sighed. “See, now you’re making me feel bad…it’s like I kicked a puppy. C’mon, cheer up, there’s a tower just out of town we can go to. You can figure out how to get your priorities straight while you’re helping.”

It was a short drive in their rental car to get to the small radio tower, erected behind an abandoned farmhouse outside of town. A man was there, guarding the tower and manning the electronics. By the time Steve had taken him out, Natasha had already handled the technical side and stopped the broadcast, effectively destroying all the electrical equipment. For good measure, Steve knocked the tower down and watched it fall harmlessly into a patch of grass.

“Once they realize we’re targeting their towers, they’ll probably have more than one guy at each one,” said Natasha, “This is gonna get harder real quickly.”

Steve shrugged. “It doesn’t matter how hard it is, this is something I have to do.”

Natasha nodded. “If you can get a rough idea as to the Winter Soldier’s location, we can focus our energy on the towers nearest him. It doesn’t do any good destroying a tower in Maine if he’s in Idaho.”

“We still don’t even know if he’s alive, but he was heading west before, so we could try that."

Natasha put a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “He’s alive, Steve.” 

His throat tightened until it was hard to swallow. “You don’t know that, ‘tasha,” he said, wiping his eyes.

“No, but I have faith in him.”

Steve looked at her in surprise. She held his gaze steadily, the slight jut of her chin warning him not to ask any more questions. They left the man lying there unconscious. Without the tower there anymore, the worst he could do was report to his superiors that someone was hunting them. Steve was out of costume, and his shield was still at the bottom of the Potomac, so he was some anonymous man as far as anyone else knew. He thought he liked the idea of the people trying to hurt Bucky knowing that someone was coming for them, however long it took. And he was tired of killing people.

They headed west.


	10. Tell me about yourself

_Codename: Winter Soldier_

_James Buchannan Barnes: Sergeant, 32557_

_Bucky_

“Should I send him a selfie from the bus or wait ‘til we get there?”

The man without a name opened his eyes. The bus was crowded and noisy, the sound a low rumble that softened the ringing in his ears, but these voices were new.

“Oh my God Steph, just send both.”

“No, just one a day, that’s the rules!”

Three young women had crowded into the seat across the aisle from him, giggling and smiling up at their smartphones. He watched them photograph themselves curiously, looking away and closing his eyes each time they turned their heads toward him.

“You’re not foolin’ anyone pal, why’re ya starin’ at us?”

Shit. Not being the Winter Soldier was ruining his stealth, though it was likelier to be dehydration and hunger. He opened his eyes to see the three women staring at him, guarded expressions on their faces. “Why do you take pictures of yourselves?” he asked, dropping his eyes to the ground.

The one who had spoken to him, who the others had called “Steph,” frowned and leaned toward him. “Why the fuck does that matter? "

“Doesn’t it? It has too.”

“Well, _you’re_ weird,” said Steph.

“No…” said one of the others, “I think he’s being serious.”

“Yeah exactly, so he’s a weirdo.”

“You don’t have to answer,” he said, hunching his shoulders and turning away.

There was quiet for a moment, the dull muttering sound of the bus wrapping around him like a thick blanket. He felt a little dizzy, so he leaned against the window and watched the cars pass by with his drooping eyes. He’d counted eight cars when he heard footsteps coming across the aisle toward him. He turned his head and glared at Steph, who’d sat down in the seat next to him. The other two women stood stiffly in the aisle, glancing at one another. “My pictures are for my boyfriend, who’s far away,” said Steph, “it’s so he knows I’m alright. He sends them to me too, once a day.”

“Yeah, she isn’t like Claire, who sends ‘em to her _mom_ ,” said one of the standing women to the other, her smile as sharp as one of his knives.

“They’re for people who are far away?”

Steph smiled. “Gretchen doesn’t send them to anyone, she just keeps them on her phone.”

“They’re for _me_ ,” said the woman with a sharp smile, “They’re so I remember who I was and where I’ve been.”

_Codename: Winter Soldier_

_James Buchannan Barnes: Sergeant, 32557_

_Bucky_

“Dude, are you okay?” asked Steph, “You’re zoning out on us…you also kinda look like a hobo.”

“ _Steph_!” hissed Claire.

“What? It’s true.”

“If you’re asking if I have a home, the answer is no,” he said sharply, uncomfortably aware of how filthy he was.

After that, none of them said anything, and they all went back to their seats. They quietly talked amongst themselves for a long time, while he went back to counting the cars. Eventually they quieted, and he looked to see that Claire and Steph had fallen asleep, leaning against one another. Gretchen remained awake, her eyes on her phone. “Who is it?” she asked, briefly looking up at him before returning to her phone.

“Who?”

“Whoever’s far away. Who are you thinking about?”

He thought about that for a little while, looking down at his hands. “Me,” he said.

“I’ve been there dude, though I think you’re having a rougher time of it than me. You said you don’t have a home…do you have someone to feed you?”

What was it with all these people and worrying about whether or not he was eating? The Captain had mentioned that too the last time he’d seen him in person.

He’d called the Captain. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t, but in the police station he’d panicked. He still wasn’t sure what that meant, but the Captain _had_ almost certainly gone to Omaha to follow him. Was he still there, looking? Or had he given up on him completely?

“There’s someone else, isn’t there?” asked Gretchen.

“Yeah…there’s someone I know.”

“Does this person know that you’re okay?”

“I don’t think so.”

Gretchen leaned across the aisle, holding out her phone. “Here, you can use it,” she said, “Send as many as you want.”

Eyeing her uncertainly, he took the phone, holding it carefully in his hands. Gretchen watched him with her sharp smile as he mimicked what the women had done earlier, taking a picture of himself with the phone. The picture surprised him; he hadn’t seen what he looked like since he’d looked at his reflection in the mirror at that house in Cleveland. His hair was longer, his eyes were more tired, and his face was covered in scruff again. More than that though, the permanent record of his existence was heavier than he’d thought it would be.

He felt odd, though he didn’t think it was unpleasant. Impulsively, he sent the picture to the Captain’s phone, finding himself anxiously waiting for the response. The Captain responded with a picture of himself, a relieved smile on his face. A few seconds later, a message came as well. “ _Tell me about yourself,”_ it said.

He frowned. This was irregular. “ _What?”_

_“I knew Bucky, and you know me. But I don’t know you. I want to.”_

_Codename: Winter Soldier_

_James Buchannan Barnes: Sergeant, 32557_

_Bucky_

_?_

_“I’m scared.”_

After he’d hit send, the weight of what he’d written hit him. He was _terrified_. The hunters were bad enough, but those numbers on the radio were even worse. They’d turned the cogs in his head that had been put there by _them_ , and he hadn’t been able to do anything. His mouth tasted like ash and rust.

 _“What can I do?"_  

He felt like he couldn’t breathe. He looked away from the phone and back across the aisle to Gretchen, who was now reading a book. “Gretchen?” he asked softly, “Can I call someone?”

She raised her eyebrows, then smiled and nodded. He swallowed hard, and called the Captain’s number. He picked up right away. “Bu-um…hey. Are you okay?”

His flesh-and-bone hand was shaking. “Can you just talk? I don’t know what to say, but I’m scared.”

The Captain was good at talking about meaningless things. Apparently he was an artist (perhaps he’d known before, when he was Bucky), and he could go on and on about the landscape he was currently sketching, and how difficult the perspective was. It was obviously something that interested him, and nothing about it was frightening.

“Are you going to follow me from this call?” asked the man without a name.

“No.”

“Really?”

“You don’t want me to, so I won’t.”

That gave him pause. He wasn’t used to getting what he wanted. “Thank you.”

He hung up, and gave the phone back to Gretchen. She smiled, and kept reading her book.

The man slept.


	11. I thought things were different now

Although Steve fully intended to keep his promise to Bucky (he kept telling himself not to refer to him as “Bucky” anymore, but there wasn’t anything else for Steve to call him in his mind, since “the Winter Soldier” was absolutely out of the question for him, so for now he was just going with it), and not use Bucky’s phone call to track him down and try to find him, that didn’t mean that he wasn’t going to trace the call. After all, knowing to target radio towers near Las Vegas was incredibly useful, and was definitely following the spirit of Bucky’s request.

Natasha continued to update the map as they travelled west, until she received a mysterious phone call and informed Steve that she was going to need to go away for a while, but that she’d keep tabs on him. Steve took this to mean that she wasn’t going anywhere particularly dangerous, so he didn’t worry about her and instead worried about himself; with each subsequent tower he and Natasha had destroyed, the likelihood of the two of them encountering agents of the enemy increased. Natasha had been able to spot most of them from a distance and prevent any confrontations thus far, and Steve had started to be able to do the same, but he wasn’t nearly as observant as Natasha was and while he didn’t fear any of the individual agents, he did fear the collateral damage that might result from a fight in the crowded public areas where they tended to encounter the agents.

“Sam just called, he says he’ll be here in a few minutes,” said Natasha, interrupting his thoughts.

“I guess that means you’re going then?”

“I’ll wait ‘til the babysitter gets here,” Natasha said with a smile, “You’ll get into too much trouble if I leave you alone.”

“Worrying about me? I can take care of myself, you know.”

“Occasionally. Just make sure that they’re never able to use you to find him,” she said, glancing pointedly at Steve’s phone.

A chill settled in Steve’s stomach. “I won’t let that happen,” he said firmly. 

“Good.”

Someone knocked on the door. Steve got up to let in Sam, who embraced him with a grin. “Why the hell didn’t you call me sooner?” he asked, glancing over Steve’s shoulder at Natasha, “Don’t tell me it was to try to get some alone time with _her_ …”

Steve laughed, pulling away. “Are you kidding? I’m thrilled to finally have a partner whose hair doesn’t clog the shower drain. Sorry I didn’t call sooner, I’ve been so caught up in this and—”

“Save your excuses, old man, just tell me when we start.”

“Steve and I have already taken care of the targets in the immediate area,” cut in Natasha, “you’re going to cut back southeast and try to get seen somewhere in Arizona.”

“Wait, but I thought this guy was heading west?”

“Exactly. His hunters have already caught onto the fact that we’re trying to follow him, so you need to be seen places where you know he isn’t. After that, you can head west to California, assuming we don’t receive new information as to his approximate location.”

“You’re not gonna need the rental car, right, ‘tasha?”

“Don’t worry about me, just get moving. It’s almost a five-hour drive to Phoenix from here”

“Sure, sure.”

Quickly gathering his belongings, Steve went down to the car with Sam, leaving Natasha to check them out of the hotel room. Sam had apparently come prepared for the long road trip, putting a series of CD’s into the car’s stereo that played music he deemed “essential listening.” It was an eclectic mix of unfamiliar music from many different time periods, from what Steve could tell, but about halfway through the first CD he was surprised to hear the familiar deep notes of Bing Crosby’s voice. “I thought this was supposed to be “essential listening,”” he said uncertainly, keeping his eyes fixed on the road.

He could hear the smile in Sam’s voice as he replied, “It’s just as important to remember where you’ve come from as it is to remember where you are. C’mon, sing along…I know you know the words.”

Steve laughed and did just that, the words carrying him back to a time when he and Bucky had heard this song on the radio. It was nice that the music sounded the same now as it had then.

With Sam’s good company, the long drive hardly seemed to take any time at all, and soon they had checked into a motel in Phoenix, and were planning their next move. There were several radio towers in the nearby area, and Sam thought that if they took at least one of them out (after getting some food), it would attract enough attention to the area that they would have completed their objective without having one of the agents learn their actual location, and Steve was inclined to agree. 

Sam insisted on steak, so they went out to a steakhouse within walking distance of their hotel, sitting outside in the warm evening. Steve found himself fighting the temptation to show everyone he saw a picture of Bucky, especially now that he had an actual photograph to use instead of a messy sketch. People seemed to be remembering Bucky wherever he went, and though he had no reason to believe that Bucky had been here (plus, even if he had, Steve didn’t want to be drawing attention to the fact that Bucky was a man that people were looking for), he couldn’t help but wonder if he actually had touched the lives of people here, like he seemed to be doing everywhere he went.

It was an ugly thought in every way, but he was jealous of these people, that got to have someone that was almost like the old Bucky in their lives, when he didn’t. Luckily, having Sam around kept him from thinking quietly to himself too much.

Suddenly Sam’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Dude, pay attention, I think we’ve got trouble.”

Steve scanned the area and immediately noticed what Sam must be referring to. “Shit,” he muttered, “ _here?_ ”

They looked like two ordinary people walking down the street, but there was something in the way they moved that screamed military. That, and Steve actually recognized one of them from when he and Natasha had seen her in a shopping center in Denver. Natasha had yanked him into a storage closet and they’d watched through the keyhole as she walked by. They didn’t have that kind of luxury now; there were few enough people out and about that any movement was likely to make the enemy agents look toward it, and that was the last thing they wanted.

“I don’t suppose there’s any chance they won’t recognize you?” said Sam.

Steve grinned sheepishly and Sam rolled his eyes. “Well then what do we _do_?” he hissed.

What would Natasha do? Steve had a sudden flashback to when he and Natasha had been on the run, before SHIELD was decommissioned and the Winter Soldier was still HYDRA’s, and he knew what would work. “I need you to kiss me,” he said, holding Sam’s eyes firmly.

“ _What?!_ ”

“Public displays of affection make people very uncomfortable,” he said, remembering when Natasha had said that to him.

Sam seemed to catch on faster than Steve had back then, because before he had time to say anything else Sam’s lips were on his. As they kissed, he closed his eyes and prayed that this would work like it had with him and Natasha. He also privately hoped that Sam would think he was a better kisser than Natasha had, though he knew that was a dumb thing to worry about, especially right now.

When Sam pulled away, Steve noticed with relief that the enemy agents had passed them on the street, and were rounding a corner and passing out of sight. It was good that they were gone, because if the looks of the patrons around him were any indication, there was about to be a scene. Their waitress hurried over with their check, and whispered, “Please, this is a family restaurant, we can’t have anything like that here, you understand, right?”

Steve furrowed his eyebrows. “What?”

“I can’t let you stay here…I’ll lose my job. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

Sam started laughing and pulled out his wallet, handing some bills to the waitress. “C’mon “honey,”” he said with a toothy grin to Steve, “let’s leave the nice people alone.”

After Sam had lead him away from the restaurant, still roaring with laughter, Steve asked quietly, “Was that because we were both men?”

Sam stopped laughing and smiled affectionately at him. “Nah, it’s cuz you’re such a decrepit old man smooching a sprightly young thing like me…it’s an abomination against nature.”

“This isn’t funny, Sam…I…I thought things were different now.”

Sam stared at him for a moment, before his eyes widened. “ _Oh,_ ” he said softly, “um…for what it’s worth, it _is_ different now, but we’re in Arizona, not New York.”

Steve stared at his feet, hunching his shoulders. “Hey, hey,” said Sam, putting his hand on Steve’s shoulder, “do you wanna put off the mission so we can talk about this? Do you need to talk?”

Steve shook his head. “No…I’m sorry, let’s get going.”

Sam frowned for a moment before smiling again. “Well alright. Sooner we get this done the sooner you’re home safe with your friend and _I_ can be bragging to my group about how _I_ got to kiss _Captain America_ …I won’t mention what a shitty kisser you are though,” he added with a wink.

“I am _not_ a shitty kisser!” Steve retorted indignantly, “Let’s just go destroy a tower and get out of here.”

“Trying to change the subject I see…no wonder Natasha’s always trying to set you up, you need all the help you can get.”

They continued to bicker like that until they got to the motel, and it was only once they’d gotten there that Steve realized how much better he felt. He wasn’t sure what he’d do if he didn’t have Sam as a friend, and he found himself hoping that Bucky was finding friends too.


	12. If it hurts then that means it’s alive

“You look a little down on your luck to be in Vegas, pal.”

That wasn’t fair. _He_ certainly hadn’t intended to end up in what must be the brightest and noisiest place in the world, the artificial lights so bright that he couldn’t even see the stars. He’d finally encountered an alert bus driver who noticed that he was boarding the buses without paying any fees, though the fact that he wasn’t in prime condition had definitely contributed to his getting caught. The man had kicked him off at the nearest bus stop, and he’d been stuck here ever since.

“C’mon, don’t be unfriendly…I’m sorry. I know a fellow vet when I see one, and you look like you just got outta hell.”

He looked up at the woman, standing over him with her hands on her hips. Her face was leathery and scarred, but her arms were what drew his attention, covered with undulating waves of water and small flowers that seemed to be etched into her skin. She noticed his staring and smiled crookedly. “Yeah, I know, kinda girly, but it helps me remember my arms aren’t only for killing.”

"You’ve killed?”

“Hon, I was a soldier…of course I’ve killed people. But you still haven’t told me what you’re doing here.”

“I think I’m lost,” he said uncertainly.

The woman cursed. “ _Jesus Christ_ , they’re supposed to be helping you out, not dumping you out in the street like a rabid dog. Umm…” she started yanking at her closely-cropped hair, “Listen, come with me. We’re supposed to be on vacation, but my husband’s a vet too. He’ll understand.”

She held out a hand. He glanced up uncertainly at her before reaching out to take it, letting her pull him up. Her hand was warm and steady, even through his glove. “What’s your name, kid?” she asked, leading him up some stairs into one of the bright buildings.

He swallowed hard. “Nathan,” he said, trying the feel of it over his tongue.

“No fooling? Mine’s Natalie. The husband goes by Archer…he thinks it makes him sound hip and fashionable. That’s him over there, with the long girly hair.”

He looked and saw a man pulling a lever on a brightly colored machine, cursing and kicking it after a moment. “Lose again, honey?” Natalie asked warmly.

“Shut up and get over here, you’re the only one who has any luck with…Nat? I thought you were going out for fresh air? Who’s this?”

“This is Nathan. I thought we could all get dinner together or something.”

At the mention of food, _Nathan’s_ (after hearing the name more than once, he decided it didn’t fit, but now he was stuck with it) stomach growled, and Archer raised his eyebrows. “Are we really doing this? We’re really doing this,” he said with a sigh, “…okay. Nathan, right? You’re about my height…you want some of my clothes? The ones you’ve got look like they need to be burned.”

“I’m dirty.”

“Yeah…a shower’s definitely in order. Let’s go upstairs and get you cleaned up.”

He could feel the eyes on him as he moved through the building, and felt more out of place and unwelcome than he could remember feeling. But Archer and Natalie each took one of his hands, and he felt better. They brought him into a bathroom and left him there, telling him to take as long as he needed. He stripped out of his filthy clothes gratefully, but hesitated to turn on the water for the shower. A bullet hole was still in his metal arm, and a slight rattling had been audible from it. It hadn’t been functionally detrimental yet, but he worried about getting water on it. In the end, he wrapped his metal shoulder with several towels and hoped for the best, trying to minimize the water splashing on it as he stood under the stream of hot water.

He refused to consider the possibility that these people were actually his hunters, though he kept alert nevertheless.

Archer had left some clothes in a neat pile for him, and he pulled them on, surprised to find that a pair pf gloves had been included. It made his chest feel strange.

When he emerged from the bathroom, Archer and Natalie were both seated on the room’s couch. Natalie smiled when she saw him. “Well look at you! You clean up good, kid.”

He wasn’t sure what to say to that, so he looked at Archer instead, and mumbled, “Thank you.”

Archer smiled. “Don’t mention it, they’re yours. What do you want to eat?”

His stomach growled. “Pizza,” he said, knowing and taking comfort from the knowing that he would like it.

Natalie and Archer both laughed. “Not what I was expecting,” said Natalie, “but I can get behind that. I saw a place that does Chicago-style…that okay?”

“As long as it doesn’t have mushrooms.”

“Whatever you want, kid.”

As they walked, he decided that he liked Natalie and Archer. Natalie spoke a lot, and Archer listened, neither of them forcing him to talk. When they arrived at the pizza place, he ordered one that had every topping except for mushrooms, so that he could try them all. He was so hungry that he ate an entire pizza all on his own, while Archer and Natalie shared a smaller one with fewer toppings. When he’d finished his own pizza, they smiled and pushed the last couple pieces of theirs toward him.

As they were eating, a TV screen by the counter played the news. He kept an eye on it, relieved to never see his own face on the screen. He did however notice a different familiar face. He watched in amazement as a cheerful woman in Chicago according to the onscreen text introduced someone named Tony Stark (Stark, Stark, had Bucky known that name?), who quickly interrupted her and began talking about flight technology and the work he was doing with his newest intern, who was brought out to smile at the camera.

He was stunned to see Tiffany’s smiling face on the TV screen, while Tony Stark spoke incessantly about her brilliance and unbelievable aptitude, loudly asking the camerawoman and “Pepper” if they could be done with the interview and get back to the lab. Seeing someone speak so highly of Tiffany left him with a strange and tight feeling in his chest, which rose up to press against his eyes.

He cried out in alarm when his vision blurred and water started dripping down his face. At once Natalie put her hands on his shoulders and said quietly, “It’s okay, you’re okay.”

“What’s happening?” he choked out.

“Oh _Nathan_ ,” said Archer, “You’re crying. It’s okay, you’re just crying.”

“Crying?” he asked, clutching at his chest, “It _hurts_.”

“Sometimes it’s good that something hurts,” Natalie said soothingly, “If it hurts then that means it’s alive.”

He hiccoughed. “It’s alive?” he asked, the pain beginning to dull to a low ache in his throat.

Natalie nodded. They sat there quietly while the tears continued dripping down his face. He didn’t like what they did to his breath and the way they felt on his cheeks, but he felt lighter as they fell away, so maybe it was good that he was getting rid of them. Eventually, their flow slowed and stopped, and his breath began to be normal again. “You wanna go splash water on your face?” asked Archer, “bathroom should be down that hall over there.”

He nodded and got up, finding once he reached the bathroom that some water did in fact help. It cleared his head enough for him to remember that he really shouldn’t be doing this, that he needed to be moving on before a hunter saw him. Before he could change his mind, he climbed out through the bathroom window and left the building behind him, vanishing as best he could into the night before Archer and Natalie noticed that he’d left.

It was only when he was several blocks away that he noticed the wad of folded cash carefully tucked into the pocket of his jeans. Feeling like he might cry again, he fled to a bus stop and proudly paid his fare, travelling west once again.

Everyone on the bus around him was asleep or barely awake, so it was easy to quickly borrow someone’s phone to take a picture of his face (it was amazing how different he looked when he was clean) and send it to the Captain, quickly following with the question _“Do you ever cry?”_

He found himself feeling pleased when the Captain’s reply was, _“Yes.”_


	13. I wish you were here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry everyone! I got so caught up in finals and moving out and unpacking and summer starting and everything that I forgot all about this. I'm so sorry, I'll never do it again, I promise! Steve and Bucky need to be reunited after all! I hope you haven't all given up on me...OTL Anyway, as a peace offering have a chapter set in Disneyland!

“You can whine about how “we should be utilizing our time more effectively” as much as you want, Captain Wedgie, but there is _no way_ you’re flying me all the way out to So-Cal…and let me remind you that this, right here, this is a _favor_ from me to you…to lend my technical expertise in the dismantling of a sensitively located tower…i.e. one that you can’t just knock over—”

“Stark, I know it gets you off to gloat about how technologically illiterate I am, but I’ve been up for years now and I’m _not_ clueless. We would have been _fine_ without you, I was just playing it safe and—”

“Yeah yeah sure, princess, whatever. _Anyway_ …there’s no way I’m coming all the way here and we’re not going to Disneyland before I go. You’re welcome to go ahead and graciously thank me in advance, since you’re going to love it.”

A short pause before Sam coughed and muttered, “Staring hopelessly at him isn’t going to make him spontaneously transform into Natasha, Steve.”

Steve self-consciously put on a pair of sunglasses, though the morning sun wasn’t really bright enough to justify them. “Can’t blame me for trying.”

“By all means, continue to try. If you somehow ever do develop the ability to turn an unbelievably gorgeous man into an even more unbelievably gorgeous woman, _please_ use it on me,” Tony said with a mildly dreamy look on his face.

“If you want to avoid him today, just stay on “It’s a Small World After All” and you’ll be completely free,” said Sam, “I think he might actually spontaneously combust if he gets on that ride. Oh yes, three daypasses please,” he said cheerfully to the man at the ticket window, “Soul patch over there will be paying.”

“This is _not_ a soul patch,” Tony snarled, pulling out his wallet while Steve hid his snickers behind his hand.

“Thank you very much,” said the man, whose nametag read “Greg,” “Welcome to the Happiest Place on Earth.”

It was overwhelming, but in the best possible way. Steve quickly bought a hat from one of the many vendors so he’d be a little less recognizable. He didn’t mind talking to children and signing autographs, but it felt distasteful and disrespectful to do that here where there were people working all day in the hot sun and itchy costumes to do the same thing. He also mostly avoided the rides after giving up his spot in line to a kid several times in a row. He knew that this park was for everyone, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that it was meant more for younger people, especially now during the day.

Steve kept himself occupied instead by talking to bored popsicle vendors and watching the characters perform for the children. He also to his delight found several caricature artists, with whom he spent most of the afternoon admiring their vastly different but equally creative styles and comparing notes on technique. He left with several different portraits of himself (paid for, of course), along with a lot of merchandise he definitely shouldn’t have bought but couldn’t resist.

Sam periodically texted him after they’d gotten separated while Tony tugged them towards a ride called Space Mountain and Steve hung back, but seemed content with leaving Steve to his own devices since they all seemed to be having fun. Apparently Pepper was meeting them for dinner at some fancy restaurant within the park before taking Tony back home with her, so Steve started heading over to that area of the park when he saw the sun beginning to get low in the sky.

Just then, the high point of his day occurred. His phone alerted him that he had received a text, and thinking it was from Sam he didn’t immediately check to see what it said, since his hands were full of litter he’d been collecting off the ground ( _yes_ , there were plenty of custodial employees to take care of this so the litter never really built up, but his head was full of horrific fantasies of dogs and children choking on small pieces of litter and it wasn’t hurting anyone if he just picked up a little bit).

After depositing the trash in a nearby bin and washing his hands, he pulled out his phone and was surprised to see that he’d received a picture. Two college-aged boys with ear-to-ear grins on their face framed a serious man that could only be the man that had once been the Winter Soldier and had once been Bucky Barnes, the Golden Gate Bridge in the background.

As he was taking in the image, he received a message.

_I wish you were here. Where are you?_

Steve felt like he could hardly breathe as he quickly typed a reply.

_I wish I was there too. I’m a bit further south than you._

He’d paused in front of Splash Mountain, so he turned so that his own selfie would have the ride in the background. A few seconds passed before the reply came.

_Wow. We haven’t been this close before…you might actually catch me this time if you tried. Isn’t that thrilling?_

_Do you want me to?_

_No_.

_Then I won’t._

_Oh. That’s nice. This bridge is almost the right shape, but it’s the wrong color. And the water isn’t right either._

Steve found himself smiling a little despite himself.

_It’s the Golden Gate Bridge, not the Brooklyn Bridge. Of course it’s different._

_Yes. I want to go home._

_Is that safe?_

_No, but nowhere is. If I’m going to be in danger I’d rather be home._

_Do you want me to come get you? We could fly there…_

_No. I’ll make my own way. I wish you were here but I don’t want you to find me yet._

_Okay. Stay safe._

There was no reply, but Steve chose to believe that the message had been received. There were only two places that Steve could think of that Bucky could be referring to when he said he wanted to go home: wherever he’d been kept in Russia while he was the Winter Soldier, and Brooklyn. He couldn’t imagine Bucky managing to get on an international flight while he still had so many people hunting him (though it wasn’t impossible), and he wasn’t sure he believed that that was where Bucky would want to go anyway. That left Brooklyn, and if Bucky was going there, then he was going to loop back and head east, which mean that Steve and Sam would need to head back across the country as well.

He was interrupted from his thoughts by Tony Stark’s unmistakable voice calling him from down the path where he stood with Sam and Pepper. Rolling his eyes halfheartedly, Steve picked up his pace to reach them. Before anything else, he was going to make sure that Miss Potts had a nice evening.


	14. Why would you want it to be the same?

“Thank you for letting me use your phone,” said the man who currently wore the name “Caleb,” handing a phone back to one of the two twenty-year-olds.

He laughed as he took it. “No problem, dude, without your ninja fingers my paycheck would’ve been a goner…it’s the least I could do. I got unlimited data anyway.”

“What Clark _means_ to say,” cut in his friend sharply, “is he really appreciates what you did and you’re welcome to come over to his house for something to eat, if you like.”

“ _Bruce…_ ” whined Clark.

“Oh come on! You know your father won’t mind, and you owe this guy more than a few texts.”

“I don’t want to cause any trouble,” said the man, shifting uncomfortably, “you don’t owe me anything…I’ll just be on my way now.”

“What?! No, Caleb, my man, don’t be like that. Bruce is right…I was just being a dumbass. C’mon back to my place…you like curry and udon, right?”

Bruce made a face. “You’re not seriously going to serve that to a _guest?_ ”

“Why not? It’s filling and delicious.”

“ _It’s not real curry!_ ” Bruce all but shrieked.

“Oh well _excuse me_ for not hand grinding the finest spices for your dining pleasure, Mister Majit.”

“I don’t give a shit if your father uses curry powder…my _mother_ uses curry powder when she’s in a hurry. But you don’t put curry on _fucking noodles_.”

“Your mind’s telling you nooooo but your body, your body is telling you yessssss!”

The man smiled, feeling something small and soft somewhere in his chest. “Perhaps I can provide the tie-breaking vote?” he suggested.

“The man makes an excellent proposal,” said Clark, “I suppose that means you’ll have to stay as well Bruce…to supervise and junk.”

Bruce rolled his eyes. “Like I wasn’t staying over anyway.”

The boys continued to provide warm background noise the entire way to Clark’s house, soothing away the faint ringing in the man’s ears. It seemed like hardly any time had passed before they’d arrived at a small house in the suburbs. A faded wooden sign stood in front of the house, reading “Katsuro Hayashi – Kintsugi.” The boys walked past it and up to the house, Clark shouting “I’m home!” as he opened the door. Following the boys’ example, the man took off his shoes as he entered the house, placing them neatly by the door.

“Dad, we’ve got company! Where’s grandma?”

“Bruce I assume? She’s not back from her walk yet, why don’t you set the table in the meantime? Your sister’s working late again so she won’t be joining us tonight.”

“What a shame,” said Bruce, “I was hoping there’d be someone to play Mario Kart with who’s worth competing against. Good evening Mr. Hayashi!”

“ _You take that back,_ ” snarled Clark under his breath, “And she’s abandoned you for FPS’s anyway. It’s Bruce plus one, Dad.”

“This dumbass’s paycheck nearly blew away into the ocean but a superhero managed to retrieve it for him.”

“…I’m no superhero,” said the man anxiously.

“Hell yeah you are!” said Clark, “I’ve never seen anyone jump that far in my life…and you like kept yourself from falling off the bridge by like hooking your feet in the railing and man it was like the coolest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Sounds like a hero to me,” said Clark’s father, leaning out of the kitchen with a steaming spoon in his hand, “He have a name?”

“I-I’m Caleb,” said the man, hunching his shoulders and fighting the urge to look for an escape route.

Clark’s father smiled. “Relax, I’m not going to chase you out. Come in and sit down.”

As soon as the man stepped further into the house, the thick smell of warm spices wrapped around his nose and made his mouth water. He sat down hesitantly in the chair that faced the large kitchen windows, nothing but solid wall behind him. He heard the sound of the front door opening, and an old woman called out “I’m home!”

“Grandma, come and eat!” shouted Clark, setting bowls and utensils on the table.

“Why’s there a hobo in Kara’s seat?” asked the old woman as she shuffled into the room.

“He’s a guest for dinner,” said Clark, “Caleb, this is my grandma. She doesn’t speak a word of English, so just smile and nod a lot and you’ll be fine.”

Oh. The grandmother was speaking Japanese. The man spoke Japanese fluently, of course, among many other languages, but he thought that he probably shouldn’t draw attention to that fact. Instead he smiled and nodded. “See! You’re doing just fine!” said Clark, “Grandma, just sit down and behave yourself, please.”

“Don’t talk to your grandmother that way,” said Clark’s father, bringing a pot over to the table and ladling food into their bowls.

“Thank you for the food,” said Bruce, Clark, and Clark’s grandmother (in Japanese), before picking up their chopsticks and beginning to eat.

The man stared at the chopsticks as Clark’s father sat down and began eating too. This was an complication he should have foreseen. The thin pieces of wood looked like they would snap so easily in his hand, even if he could figure out how to eat with them. He picked them up cautiously and watched the way the others held them out of the corner of his eye, only feeling more uneasy.

Bruce noticed his discomfort first. “Caleb?” he asked, “Do you know how to use chopsticks?”

Feeling his face grow hot, the man shook his head. Clark smiled and got out of his chair. “Dude, it’s okay,” he said, “I’ll just get you a fork. Sorry, I should’ve thought of that from the beginning…I hardly ever have anyone over other than Bruce and he learned how _years_ ago.”

The chopsticks were taken out of his hand and replaced with a metal fork, and the man immediately relaxed. “Thanks…” he muttered, lowering his eyes back to the food.

Clark laughed. “I told you…it’s totally fine. Now eat your food.”

Obediently twining the thick noodles around his fork, the man hesitantly took a bite, and immediately burst out, “It’s _good!_ ”

“Yes!” crowed Clark, thrusting his fist into the air, “Eat that, Bruce!”

“If you paid attention you’d’ve noticed that I _am,_ ” said Bruce serenely, patting his face with a napkin.

“Are they always like this?” asked the man softly, directing his question toward Clark’s father.

“Ever since sixth grade, when Bruce’s family moved here from Brooklyn,” Clark’s father said with a smile, “Though I’ll admit they weren’t _quite_ as bad before they started dating.”

“O-oh…I’m, from Brooklyn?”

“Really? Then you’re a long way from home. What brings you to San Francisco?”

“It’s where I ended up.”

“You been on the road a while?”

The man nodded. “Do you need a place to stay tonight?” Clark’s father asked softly.

The man felt like he couldn’t breathe. “No, no, Mr….Hayashi,” he said, remembering the name from the sign outside, “I couldn’t…you’ve done so much already…and I have no way to pay you back…”

“A bowl of food is hardly “so much,” Caleb, but relax. You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to.”

The man stared at him, wishing like he never had before that he had some skill that he could use to pay this man back. For an idle instant he pondered asking Mr. Hayashi if there was anyone he wanted dead, because that was the only thing he really knew how to do, but that didn’t seem like the best question to ask.

“Will you feel better if you help me clean up before you go?”

The man nodded, and Mr. Hayashi smiled. “Perfect. You can help me with the dishes.”

The boys ran off as soon as they were done eating, and Clark’s grandmother shuffled off soon afterward. Mr. Hayashi piled all the dirty dishes by the sink and handed the man a sponge. “Soap’s by the faucet, put the clean dishes in the drying rack, and just fill the pot with water so it can soak for a while, I’ll clean it later. Um…” he trailed off, eyes on the man’s gloved hands, “I think I’ve got some rubber gloves you can use in the cupboard under the sink.”

There _were_ gloves, bright yellow ones. The man felt silly putting them on over his other gloves, but he wasn’t going to risk Mr. Hayashi seeing his metal hand. He filled the big pot with water as he’d been instructed, and began rinsing out and cleaning one of the bowls while Mr. Hayashi brought out a rag and spray bottle and began cleaning the table.

Immediately the smell of bleach hit the man’s nose, and his head started spinning, the bright white light in the kitchen suddenly looking like that medical room, needles under his skin and a German voice saying “The operation is complete” before cold, cold, cold, and more needles, and he couldn’t scream, if he screamed they’d make it hurt more

“Caleb… _Caleb_ …you’re okay, you’re safe, you’re in my house in San Francisco, Caleb focus on your hands, breathe, you’re safe, it’s okay.”

The lights were dimmer, and the smell of bleach was gone. Mr. Hayashi sat near where the man had curled up on the floor. The man’s ears were ringing, but he could still hear Mr. Hayashi’s voice, and his heart began to slow down as he gulped down air. “Easy, easy,” said Mr. Hayashi, “Breathe slowly with me. In…out…in…out…in…out…are you okay? Do you need anything?”

Only for this to have never happened. The man’s eyes stung, and his face felt hot. “I’m sorry,” he said, his muscles slowly unclenching.

“Caleb, it’s okay. You can’t help what happened to you.”

The man’s eyes widened. “You _know??_ ”

“I know enough to know that you’ve been through hell…I knew it as soon as I laid eyes on you. My wife was a soldier…she had that same look about her every time she’d come home, like a little bit of hell had come home with her. There were certain foods I couldn’t make because the smell would remind her…but she’d always scream. _You_ were quiet as a mouse. Was it the bleach? Do you want to talk about it?”

If smells were enough, then it probably _had_ been the bleach. “I’m okay,” said the man, willing himself to believe it, “I’m sorry, I’ll finish the dishes now.”

“Let’s just get you standing up first. Watch your feet, there’s broken ceramic on the floor.”

The man lifted his eyes and stared dully at the jagged pieces of what had been the black bowl he’d washed. Of course. Because he couldn’t even managed to do this one little thing. “You must have dropped it when you fell,” said Mr. Hayashi, “I’m relieved you didn’t hurt yourself. Don’t look so stricken, I’m going to put these pieces in a box and show you something. Can you stand up by yourself?”

The man nodded and pushed himself up, not trusting himself to help Mr. Hayashi pick up the broken pieces. He watched silently as Mr. Hayashi placed the pieces gently in a small box. “Are you sure you don’t some water or anything first?” he asked the man.

“I’m fine.”

“You know best. Did Clark or Bruce tell you what I do for a living?”

The man shook his head. Mr. Hayashi smiled. “Then let me show you.”

He led the man out of the kitchen and to a smaller room further down the hall. “This is only my office,” he explained, “Not my studio. But I have a couple finished pieces I can show you.”

He took a small green cup off of one of the shelves in the room and handed it to the man. Gold lines webbed across it and shone in the light. “People bring me broken things,” said Mr. Hayashi, “And I put them back together. I’ll put the bowl together just like this. It only broke into a few pieces, so it’ll be easy.”

“It’ll never be the same,” said the man, handing the cup back to Mr. Hayashi.

“Why would you want it to be the same? Look at how beautiful this cup is now…much more beautiful than it was before. Being broken isn’t some horrible crime that demands being thrown away as punishment. This cup shines at the broken places and doesn’t hide its history. And now it will be a treasure for the family that brought the broken pieces to me, and it can hold water again.”

The man felt a few tears run down his face. “Can you really fix it?” he asked quietly.

“Nothing is beyond repair,” said Mr. Hayashi firmly.

The man nodded. “I’ll leave it to you then. Thank you for everything,” he added, turning to walk back down the hallway, “I’ll leave your family alone now.”

“Come back if you ever need anything,” said Mr. Hayashi.

The man believed him. “Thank you,” he said, putting his shoes back on and opening the door, “But I doubt you’ll ever see me again.”

He left the house with its wooden sign reading “Katsuro Hayashi – Kintsugi” behind him, getting on the first eastbound bus he could find. It was only about an hour later, when he noticed some passenger staring at his hands, that he realized he’d accidentally taken the bright yellow rubber gloves with him.


	15. He couldn't do anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is alternatively titled "Porridge attempts to write a torture scene and fails completely." Warnings for blindfolds, acid burns, and Steve hallucinating a bit

_“Steve stop freaking out, I’m **fine.** ”_

_“Do you really think that I don’t know what a bad cough sounds like? I can’t force you to go to the hospital, but I can at least go get you some NyQuil or Vick’s or something.”_

_“Steve, it’s like three in the morning.”_

_“There’s gotta be something open…a gas station maybe?”_

_“You shouldn’t be going out at night alone, especially without your shield. **People are looking for us.** ”_

_“Sam, I’ll be fine. There was a gas station like two blocks down the street…I won’t even be a half hour. And I’ve been fine without my shield so far.”_

_“Yeah, with Natasha or I there to save your ass.”_

_“Oh my God this is so unnecessary, go back to your coughing and I’ll be right back.”_

_“Steve, wait, Steve—”_

“Wake up!” barked a voice in Steve’s ear, and he woke with a jerk.

Everything was dark, and it took Steve a moment to realize that he’d been blindfolded. He was lying flat on his back, and cool metal wrapped around his wrists and ankles. He tested the restraints, but a wave of nausea kept him from putting any strength into it. “Where am I?” he asked faintly, “What did you do to me?”

“You’ve been a thorn in our side for quite some time now, Mr. Rogers,” said the voice, “We’ve taken measures to ensure that you won’t…deprive us of your company prematurely. So it doesn’t really matter where we are, does it?”

“How long have I been out?”

“Long enough. But enough about you, let’s talk about why you’re here. I’ve taken the liberty of examining your phone, and it would seem you’ve been in regular contact with a mutual friend of ours. _Where is he?_ ”

“I don’t know. He uses a different phone each time so it’s no good trying to trace any of those numbers.”

“Obviously. But it would seem that your paths across the country have been quite similar, yours sometimes even anticipating his, which would indicate that you have some idea of where he’s going. Where _is_ he going?”

“Who knows?”

The voice sighed heavily. “Now see, this isn’t how I want this to go at all. We’re in a bit of a rush, as you might imagine, and doddling here isn’t going to do _either_ of us any good. I’ll let you off easily since this is your first offence, but I expect you to understand that there are consequences for your behavior.”

“If you know who I am then you know you’re not going to be able to kill me.”

“Mr. Rogers,” said the voice over the sounds of clinking glass and pouring liquid, “that’s entirely the point.”

Suddenly one of Steve’s arms began to burn, and he screamed until his throat was raw, thrashing and fighting the restraints. The voice chuckled. “I think you need another dose of your medicine,” he said, and Steve felt a syringe jab into his neck, “Really, throwing such a tantrum for just a little sulfuric acid? That’s not even the strongest acid I have! And only on your arm, when it could have been somewhere much worse…like your testicles, or your face! So let’s try this again. Where is he going?”

Whatever had been injected into Steve made his head swim, and forming words was difficult. “I told you, I don’t know,” he grunted out, breathing deeply, “Are we alone?”

More acid, this time on his other arm. “Don’t lie to me,” said the voice when Steve’s screaming had died down, “In your last correspondence he mentioned “going home.” Where is that?!”

“Hey, he’s _your_ soldier. Shouldn’t _you_ know that? Or is that below your pay grade?”

“The Winter Soldier _has_ no home!” shouted the voice, pouring more acid on Steve’s stomach, “The concept shouldn’t even _compute_ for him! It must be a code for something, so tell me what it means!!”

“Buddy, if you wanna decode _him_ , I am the wrong guy to ask for help. Go ahead and torture me, it’s not gonna change anything. I’ve got nothing more to say.”

“Feel free to speak up when you come to your senses,” said the voice, before pouring more acid on Steve’s chest.

Even as Steve felt the acid eat away at more of his skin, he could also feel the older burns beginning to blister and heal. His torturer didn’t let that last long before slashing through the burned area with a knife, pouring more acid on afterwards. He kept yanking at his restraints, hoping that maybe whoever had him was wrong about how strong they were. He felt like maybe he was making progress in ripping them out of the table, but all the exertion made his head spin until everything went quiet.

“Wake up. Wake up! Don’t pass out on me!”

Everything was dark and his head hurt. His limbs throbbed and he felt like he could barely move them. His throat was raw and sore, and his entire torso felt feverish and painful. But the voice was familiar…whose…oh, of course, who else’s? “That you, Buck?” he asked hoarsely

“…what?” asked Bucky.

Steve grinned. “Yeah, it’s you. ‘s’dark but I’d know your voice anywhere pal.”

“Who is Bucky? I’m not him.”

Steve frowned, and tried to think. His head hurt. “Oh…right…you told me that you’re not him anymore. You’re someone else now…but you never told me what to call you, Buck. Can’t I just call you Bucky til you come up with something better?”

“…fine…”

“Oh good…that’s nice…hey…I’m sorry I’m just lying down like this, but for some reason I can’t get up.”

“You’ve always been weak.”

“…I guess so…but…wasn’t I strong? For a while? Maybe that was just a dream…”

“A dream?”

“Yeah…where I was big and strong…and with you, but then I lost you…and then you lost yourself. Bad people stole that from you…and they put a metal arm on you…”

“A metal arm? Was there a mask too?”

“No…more like a muzzle…like you were some dog they were keeping on a leash…but you’re no dog, not ever…even when you lost yourself you were still _you_ …say, Buck? Why’s it so dark?”

“…we’re at home. The lights are off.”

“Oh. Our tree must be blocking out the moonlight.”

“Our tree?”

“You know…the apple tree we planted when we were kids. ‘s’not as big as that old magnolia on Lafayette…but just you wait, it’ll be a Brooklyn landmark someday. Or is it _now?_ Is it still alive? Aren’t we in the future? Or was that just a dream too…”

Steve thought he heard a faint whistling, but he wasn’t sure. Even with Bucky leaning in really close he could still only barely hear him. Was that right? Shouldn’t he be able to hear more…?

“I have to go away for a minute,” said Bucky.

“What? Why?”

“…there’s someone at the door. I’ll be right back.”

“Wait…Bucky, don’t leave me!” said Steve, but he couldn’t raise his arms to make Bucky stay.

He couldn’t do anything. He never could.

“Steve? _Steve!!_ ” shouted a voice frantically before falling into a fit of deep, wet coughs.

Steve suddenly realized that he was being shaken awake. He opened his eyes and winced when bright sunlight streamed into his eyes. “Bucky?” he asked.

“Nah, it’s Sam, you dumbass.”

“Sam? But I dreamed all that….where’s Bucky?”

“Ah shit…you’re still high as a kite. What the _fuck_ did they _do_ to you? C’mon, you’re supposed to be some badass super soldier…burn through this shit.”

Steve tried flexing his arms, and winced when pain shot up them all the way to his neck. He tried to look down at his arms but immediately found that it was too painful to move his head. “I wouldn’t move too much if I were you,” said the man who called himself Sam, “looks like they burned you with acid or something…you don’t look nearly as bad as you did when I pulled you out of there,” he paused to cough, “but it’ll definitely be a while before even _you_ can recover from this.”

The man coughed again. That seemed familiar. “Sam…” Steve said quietly, “I was getting you medicine…”

“Yeah, and you got your dumbass self captured by the enemy, just like I told you would happen. You sure are fucking lucky I decided to go out and look for you when you didn’t come back after half an hour…and that I was able to get a hold of Natasha and she was able to remotely hack into some security feeds to find you. I still can’t believe I managed to get us both out of there in one piece.”

All this information was weighing Steve’s thoughts down and making the headache go away. “Was Bucky there?”

“If he was…I didn’t find him. There were four folks there…three at the door and one who looked like he’d been in the torture room with you…he bolted as soon as he saw me and I wasn’t able to pursue him cuz I had to fight off the goons.”

Suddenly it all hit Steve like a blast of cold water. “That was a dream…or a hallucination, or something, but it doesn’t matter! They wanted to know where Bucky was. I wasn’t going to tell them anything…but I guess they were able to mess with my head. _Sam_ , I was compromised. I think they know where Bucky’s going.”

Sam responded to that with another coughing fit. “I cannot believe that _this_ is when I have to go on the run…” he wheezed, turning the ignition in the car that Steve realized they were in, “but here, take this,” he said, handing a phone to Steve, “I was on the phone with Natasha. She refuses to believe that you’re okay until she hears you say it yourself.”

“…can’t I just call her on mine?”

“She’s still on the line, and your phone’s been trashed. I took the card out of it, but those guys had it and your number and we _can’t_ let them trace us. You’ll have to get by using mine til we can get you a new one.”

“ _Steve…Steve!_ ” Steve could hear faintly coming from the phone, and he bit off his retort to raise the phone to his ear and answer, “It’s me, ‘tasha, I’m alive.”

“ _What happened?_ ”

Steve swallowed. It was hard to tell over the phone, but Natasha sounded furious. “I…think they put some gas in the air or something,” he said hesitantly, “It was such a small space and I thought something smelled funny but I was in too much of a hurry to worry about it…God, I’m so sorry ‘tasha…”

There was silence on the other line for a long moment. “ _We should have left you there,_ ” she said finally, “ _it would have served you right._ ”

“’tash….that’s not even the worst of it…” Steve said softly, “I…they know where he’s going. I was compromised, and I told them where he’s going. And I can’t keep my phone so he’s gonna text me and I’m not gonna respond and what will he _think???_ And I won’t be able to warn him…they’re gonna set a trap and he’s gonna walk right into it and I… _help me_ Natasha…what do I _do_?”

“ _Where is he going?_ ”

“Home.”

“ _Then we still have time. I’m not in a place where I can just get away…but I’ll do what I can. Just…try not to be too easy for them to find…just because they got what they needed out of you doesn’t mean they want you running around. Lay low for a while until we have more information. Can you do that, soldier?_ ”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“ _We’ll see. Try not to get Sam killed._ ”

“I’ll do my best, but he’s gonna kill himself just from forcing himself to drive all the way to…where’re we goin’, Sam?”

“Idaho,” Sam replied, “I got friends there.”

“Idaho. I’ll call you when we get there.”

“ _…drink some water,_ ” Natasha said, “ _it’ll help with your headache._ ”

“How’d you know about that?”

“ _I’ve been playing this game with them since I was born, Steve. Just drink some water and stay safe._ ”

With that, Natasha hung up. Steve lowered the phone away from his ear, and finally dared to try looking down at his arms again, wincing at the red and blistered flesh that greeted him. “ _Believe me_ ,” said Sam, “when I say you look a million times better than you did when I hauled you out of there. Thank God for super serum. How’d it go?”

“I think she forgives me.”

“Huh. Unfortunately for you, I’m not as much of a cuddly carebear as she is. As soon as your skin’s healed enough, you’re driving the rest of the way. You also get to pay back the guy I stole this car from.”

“ _You stole it!?!?_ ”

“They might track the rental we had before, I had to play it safe.”

“You’re as bad as _Natasha_ …how do you even know _how_ to steal a car?”

“Sorry Cap…that’s privileged information…and in the light of recent events…I’m not sure I can trust you with anything like that,” Sam said with a grin, pulling the car onto the freeway, “Now settle down and let me drive.”


	16. Hey now don’t flip your wig baby, I’m just out of practice is all

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's back...back again  
> Guess who's back...tell a friend

_His dreams were black and white, but there was a girl whose hair was Red._

Forty acres of dead bodies.

He’d been sitting next to _Samuel Robin Haverford, 03/23/1907-10/04/1991_ for most of the day. No Greyhound buses were coming to Carson City until Monday morning. Hitchhiking here might have been a mistake, but on the other hand it might not be a place any pursuers would expect him to end up. Either way it was quiet, which was good at any time, but especially now.

The van full of happy drunk people had had an excellent supply of phones with which to text the Captain, which he had made use of for most of the five hours in which he occupied said van. But even after he’d beaten all of their high scores at all of the games currently downloaded on their phones, not a single one of his messages had received a reply. Granted, since each one had been sent in a different language (he’d been feeling whimsical), he’d only expected the Captain to respond to the English one, but there was complete silence from him.

Subsequent messages neither betrayed the man’s increasing concern nor yielded a response. Feeling oddly desperate as he stood alone in the city after leaving the van, he stole a phone from someone in a bar and sent

_I’ll be at the Carson City capitol building tomorrow and Sunday morning_

No one interesting had attracted his attention that morning, which suggested three possibilities: his pursuers had no agents that were within fourteen hours of Carson City, they were better at disguising themselves than he thought and he hadn’t noticed them, or they didn’t have the Captain’s phone. The fact that the Captain hadn’t shown up was disappointing given the resources he had at his disposal, but was not necessarily indicative of any unfortunate events that could have befallen him.

Someone was coming closer.

The footsteps were heavy and uneven; whoever it was was carrying something heavy. A young female voice hummed. The man quickly glanced over his shoulder and saw a flash of red and a large radio. Before he’d even fully processed what he was doing, he’d picked up a rock and thrown it, embedding it firmly in a glass screen and rendering the radio completely useless. The humming stopped.

“WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK IS YOUR DAMAGE?!?”

A girl with red hair stood by the wreckage of the radio, glaring at him and snarling. He started backing away slowly. “I…”

“Oh no. Oh no, I don’t think so. God _fucking_ dammit. Get over here, raccoon man, you’re carrying this for me now.”

The man who was most certainly, and luckily for the girl, not the Winter Soldier, quietly padded over to her and gathered up the broken radio in his arms. “I’m not going to buy you a new one,” he said.

“Not like you could. It had sentimental value. Plus, vintage cassievers are pretty expensive these days from what I understand.”

He looked at the radio, or cassiever apparently, in his hands. Old and broken, just like him. “Can you fix it?”

“Maybe if I paid enough money. It ain’t worth it…the thing honestly barely worked anyway. Shoulda sold it to that collector when I had the chance.”

The man wondered if the Captain knew what a cassiever was. He told himself that breaking it had been worth it; even though he hadn’t heard those numbers on the radio since that one horrible night, one experience was enough for him to take pre-emptive measures. Admittedly usually they had more finesse, but he’d been taken off guard.

Fingers snapping in his face. “Don’t zone out on me, raccoon man. You’re not leaving my sight until I figure out how I’m gonna punish you, but I’ve gotta finish up here first. Oh, and don’t try to run,” she added, holding up her phone and snapping a picture of him before he could blink, “I’ll call the cops if you do.”

He walked quietly beside her as she stomped across the cemetery, coming to a halt in front of _Patrick Mulligan, 08/14/1922-03/30/2013_. “Hey Gramps,” she said to the headstone, “I came to bring you your music again, but some jackass fucked it up, so nothing but me and him for you today.”

She whirled around to look at the man, eyes narrowing. “You remind me a bit of him, ya know. All twitchy like, like you seen some shit. You have I’ll bet. He fought Nazis, but I’ll bet you fought some scary motherfuckers too.”

“They never frightened me.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Well then why’d you smash that?” she asked, gesturing toward the broken cassiever.

“I…”

“Yeah I thought so.”

An airplane passed overhead. The girl cleared her throat. “You’re still here,” she said.

“He died recently.”

“Eh. I mean I guess. I do still drag my ass out here once a month, but it’s not like a conservatory’s gonna pick me up anytime soon anyway.”

“I understand. You’re not sure who you are yet, so you repeat who you were.”

“No offense, but I refuse to take advice from someone who looks like their last meal might have been toilet paper.”

“You’re narrow-minded.”

“And you’re a space case. Why are you still here?”

“I have nowhere better to be,” he answered honestly.

The girl thought about that for a moment. “You know,” she said, “for a brain-addled destructor of property, you’re alright. I’m Claire,” she added, holding out her hand.

When he didn’t immediately respond, she rolled her eyes and grabbed his metal hand, squeezing it firmly. If his reflexes were worse he would have dropped the cassiever, but he held onto it with his flesh and blood hand.

Her eyes widened in surprise. “You born with that hand?” she asked incredulously.

The man shrugged and shook his head.

Claire grinned. “Hey buddy, we match,” she said, waving her other arm, “My hand decided it wasn’t gonna grow, and so it didn’t. Were you born like that too, or did it come after?”

_Bucky! Hang on! Grab my hand!_

_Falling._

_Cold._

“After.”

“Yikes bud, I’m sorry. Must’ve hurt a lot.”

“Yeah.”

Claire was still holding his hand. He couldn’t quite feel it, but his fingers were squished together and it wasn’t unpleasant. “Apologize to Gramps for breaking his dumbass-barely-even-still-works-anyway machine and we can go,” she said with a wry smile.

“I’m sorry, Gramps, for breaking your dumbass-barely-even-still-works-anyway machine. Also for scaring Claire.”

“You did _not_ scare me! You _startled_ me, like you would have anyone if you threw a rock at them in the middle of a stiff park!”

Claire yanked him away from Patrick Mulligan’s headstone and led him down the path, and he laughed.

“You laugh like a rusty garage door,” Claire muttered, “C’mon, my car’s this way.”

They passed a few people on their way out, all of whom politely waved at Claire and avoided eye contact with the man, which suited him just fine. Claire didn’t let go of his metal hand until they came up to a dented old car with flaking paint. She unlocked it and eased the trunk open. “Dump the junk in there, I’ll figure out what to do with it when I get home.”

The trunk was full, but he managed to wedge the cassiever in between the spare tire and a few bags of groceries, carefully moving a violin case to place it on top. “Do you aim to get to the “conservatory” with this?” he asked.

Claire shifted uncomfortably. “Eh, I mean, it would be nice I guess. But I think the only audience that likes me is the folks at the geezer’s home my granny lives at.”

“I’d like to hear you,” he said, and surprisingly it was true.

Claire blinked a few times. “ _Really?_ Uh, I mean, I’ve got a thing to get to, and I really can’t stay here much longer…”

“Then don’t. It’s okay.”

She grinned sheepishly. “Thanks dude.”

She shut the trunk and got into her car, rolling down the window. “I forgive you for breaking Gramps’ cassiever, bee-tee-dubs.”

“Oh good. I was worried.”

She laughed. “Take care of yourself pal,” she said, and drove away.

The man put his hands in his pockets and watched her reach the road, and then stop. She leaned out of her window. “I’LL COME BACK TOMORROW,” she yelled, “IF YOU WANNA LIKE HEAR ME PLAY OR SOMETHING.”

Then she was gone.

_His dreams were black and white, but there was a girl whose hair was Red._

_“I have a surprise for you today, птенчик,” the Winter Soldier said to the girl._

_“Is it a designation?” she asked, not looking up from the gun she was cleaning._

_“No, you are still too young. But we will be having an art class today.”_

_The girl smiled and the Winter Soldier knew he should scold her for it, but her eyes were so Blue and he just couldn’t bring himself to. She nimbly leapt down from the roof she’d perched on and took the sniper rifle he offered to her. “Your brush,” he said, “your canvas is on the third floor of that building over there. The theme is modern politicians.”_

_The girl silently took aim, firing shots through one of the third floor windows until she’d used nearly all of the provided ammo. “I’ve finished,” she abruptly proclaimed, lowering the rifle and looking to the Winter Soldier._

_“Then let us go examine your work,” he replied._

_On the third floor they found a room with a shattered window and a man in a white shirt slumped in a chair. His chest was filled with bullet holes, which outlined the shape of a woman’s face. “The queen of England is not a politician,” said the Winter Soldier._

_The girl shrugged. “Close enough.”_

_“Always you are bending the rules, птенчик.”_

_“I completed the assignment. It’s not a perfect likeness, but I’m sure one day I’ll be able to see the real thing for myself. Then I’d do better.”_

_The wind howled outside, rattling the frame of the shattered window. The Winter Soldier did not shiver._

_“They will destroy you.”_

_“I’d like to see them try.”_

In the morning the man returned to the Carson City capitol building. Again, he saw neither the captain nor any of his enemies. After stealing a tourist’s lunch, he made the quick walk to the Lone Mountain Cemetery, keeping an eye out for a familiar head of red hair.

Claire was sitting on the ground next to _Patrick Mulligan, 08/14/1922-03/30/2013_ , a violin in her lap and her hair pulled up into a tight bun. She appeared to be looking around for someone, but did not notice him until he was almost close enough to touch her. She would have been an easy mission. Though the loud noises she made when startled would complicate things a bit.

“Oh, hey, I was wondering if you’d show up,” she said, heaving herself up off the ground.

“So was I.”

She grinned. “You’re a bit of an odd duck. Well? Any requests? I just know a bunch of oldie-but-goodies, no conservatory material here, but if there’s something you want…”

The Winter Soldier had not needed to know the names of songs, and so the man did not know any. “Play something your grandfather would like.”

Claire shrugged. “Suit yourself. Sing along if you know the words.”

She wore an interesting prosthetic hand which held the bow. The man thought guiltily of the mobility his metal arm offered as she lifted the bow to the strings and began to play. She wasn’t especially good—not conservatory material, like she’d said—but she wasn’t unpleasant to listen to. The man quickly became quite distracted by the melody she was playing, and words leapt unbidden to his lips, as painful as though he were coughing up shards of glass.

 

_I'll be seeing you in all the old familiar places_

_That this heart of mine embraces, all day through_

_In that small cafe, the park across the way_

_The children's carousel, the chestnut trees, the wishing well..._

He knew the second verse as well, or at least had the words inside him somewhere he’d forgotten. They hurt like a punch to the jaw, and as Claire finished the song his whole mouth felt stinging and painful. “You sing like you’ve been gargling gravel ya know,” Claire said.

“Hey now don’t flip your wig baby, I’m just out of practice is all.”

Both Claire and the man blinked, Claire eyeing him suspiciously. “Erm…” she said hesitantly, “do you want to get back in practice?”

The man shuddered. The moment passed.

“I’d rather hear _you_ sing, little bird.”

Claire raised an eyebrow. “Ooookaaaay, but only a couple songs. I’m pretty sure that I’m even worse than you.”

She closed her eyes when she sang, which was good, because it made it easier for the man to slip away without her noticing.

_He dreamed of a blue sky. Empty. Vast. Limitless._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Claire played was "I'll Be Seeing You," as popularized by Bing Crosby.  
> The dream sequence was inspired by karaii's art (http://karaii.tumblr.com/post/84342111085/the-winter-soldier-training-natalia)
> 
> I've missed you all <3


	17. He had to do this for himself, or there was no point

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some Natasha PoV this time! Last chapter was hella long, so this one's short and sweet. Enjoy! ^-^

Never, not once in all her life, would Natasha admit to her fear of airplanes.

To be fair, it was a completely rational fear. Too many years of training involving worst-case scenarios in airplanes and other forms of transportation led her to feel wary of anything she wasn’t actively controlling, but of airplanes and other flying machines in particular. She still got a twinge in her left leg on cold nights sometimes…a reminder of what happens if you open your parachute a fraction of a second too late.

She preferred buses. Yes they were slow, but they were easier to get on and off in a hurry, and any last-ditch escape plans were likelier to result in survival. Also she liked to people watch.

Her phone buzzed. A text from Sam. She closed out of Candy Crush and opened up her text messages.

_Steve and I just got into Boise. We were thinking of getting coffee…want anything?_

_caramel ribbon crunch frappuccino from *$_

_Okay, one shot of diabetes from Starbucks. Got an ETA?_

Natasha glanced at the clock.

_~15 mins_

_Sure. We’ll just wait at the Starbucks then._

_c u soon_

Natasha lowered her phone with a sigh, and turned around to look at the man sleeping four rows behind her, greasy hair hanging over his eyes. It really was a shame that she’d already arranged for Sam and Steve to pick her up in Boise. She’d been watching this man, who hadn’t stirred from his sleep once, ever since she’d noticed him, which was more or less the moment that she stepped onto the bus. It’d be hard not to. She’d know that face anywhere.

His appearance worried her. Aside from obvious superficial concerns, such as that he needed to be eating more and could use a shower and change of clothes, how instantly recognizable he was worried her considerably. Yes he’d oriented himself such that the security camera wouldn’t pick up his face, but that was a tactic for a child playing hide and seek, not someone on the run from a massive organization. She had little doubt that she, especially if she tipped off Steve and asked for some help, could grab him and bring him in without much trouble at all.

She turned back around and quickly wrote a message to Steve.

_hay wat r u wearing rn?_

_A disguise, just like you told me to._

_pics or it didn’t happen_

A moment’s pause, then a selfie from the Starbucks line featuring Steve in a dark wig, glasses, and a beard that unfortunately was probably real. Natasha shook her head fondly.

_A 4 effort, but ur face isn’t the problem, it’s ur adonis bod_

_It’s worked so far. Heard anything about Bucky?_

_nope_

Probably she and Steve could grab him no problem, but it wasn’t happening. For all that he looked like a wreck, he looked _good_. It could have been the fact that he’d been sleeping soundly for multiple hours, or some subtle expression on his face that indicated something important. But it wasn’t either of those things, it was the parade of stickers being moved across his face by two children loudly narrating the adventures of Anna and Elsa while their parents sat across the aisle, unperturbed.

Natasha could relate. Nothing in all the world soothed her like noisy children and animals did. Those days from a lifetime ago that were still all too recent were often only made bearable by the time that she spent training the younger girls. Even if she had been teaching them to kill, even if she’d been punishing them, just being around people that hadn't become monsters yet had made her feel a little more human.

Hopefully his reflexes were still sharp enough that any surprises that came his way would be something he could deal with. She could try to tail him, but even if she could remain unnoticed she didn’t want to. He had to do this for himself, or there was no point. Just like she had, he needed to find the balance between who he needed to be and who he wanted to be. But maybe a little divine intervention was in order…

She had some old receipts and a pen in her backpack, so she quickly scrawled “FOR A GOOD TIME, CALL” and wrote Steve’s new phone number in one of the old codes. Before she could decide whether or not it was a good idea, she added

_внимание, медвежонок_

_-птенчик_

The bus ground to a halt. Time to go. Smoothly, she made for the back door, slipping the receipt into the man’s pocket as she passed him.

A few hours later, curled up in the backseat of Sam’s car in a comfy post-caramel-ribbon-crunch-frappuccino nap, she was gently shaken awake by Steve, who was sporting a 50 megawatt smile. “The fuck is it?” she groaned, “I’m trying to sleep.”

“He texted!” Steve gushed, undeterred, “He’s okay! I explained to him what happened. He’s still heading home, but at least now he knows, you know?”

“Mmmm, that’s nice, I’m going back to sleep now.”

“How do you think he got my number? Should I be worried?”

“It’s a mystery. But I wouldn’t worry.”

“Well if you’re not worried then I’m not worried.”

“Well _I_ sure am,” said Sam, “If he’s got your number, that means there must be some way for the people chasing us to get your number. _That’s a huge problem._ ”

“Sam, do you trust me?” Natasha asked.

Sam looked like he was about to cry. “Unfortunately…” he said.

“Super duper. So don’t worry about it and let me go back to sleep.”

“Wait, ‘tasha, he just sent me something in Russian. What’s it say?”

Bleary-eyed, Natasha took Steve’s phone and looked at the message.

 _Не нервничай, птенчик_.

“Eh, it just means to not worry about him.”

And people said she did nothing for her friends. 


End file.
